My fair and rose for the eye maiden,
you who bows to the words of fairy tales,
do not think even for a moment that i am the minstrel of the beating sound in my chest.
Do not heed the words of false gods,
the ones who led you to believe that am the governor of my heart,
for your march on this land is the source of my breath.
A golden sea is gold only because your sun rays light it with fire.
Trees share whispers of old times, times of warm winters and fresh summers,
only because you sung beneath them.
Night skies are painted with illuminating fireballs, projecting your greatest gift,
only because you illustrated them before my eyes.
The roses gift me with their fragrant wind,
only because you are the queen of this never ending sight of blush roses.
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