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FLOWERS
he picked her
like a summer flower
bright and fresh
from spring rain showers
captured now
between his hands
he severed her stem
from the motherland
her roots are rotting
in the ground
she screams
but cannot make a sound
she fears one day
she’ll be a mother
to a new flower
who might discover
the hands of Men
they are not gentle
and every day
we must be careful