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Under the Weather

By Jane Doe.

My Conifer yearns

for love, just like anybody else.

She'd fall head over heels everyday for her unadmitting,

golden sweetheart,

Though her blunt stilettos dig deep into the ground

And her prickly nose lifts high towards the sky —

no one can notice her helpless dive.

The Wind thrills as his touch evokes a whisper

from her chapped lips,

As the Earth forever longs for her to trip

into his soft, green arms.

My Conifer's love only remains towards the ever-traveling Autumn.

She wishes for him to caress a blush

across her figure, and whisk her

of her leaves.

Autumn's harem has no place for an Evergreen.

She remains helpless to the courts of the Wind and Earth

(who, dare I say, are never loverless),

And resilient against the aggressive plays of Winter.


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