In a garden where the sun would rise,
There bloomed a rose with gentle eyes,
Her petals soft, a crimson thrill,
She was Ruth, the rose that blushes still.
Her color bright, a fervent red,
With every dawn, her beauty spread,
Though time would pass and seasons sway,
Her blush remained, as night turned day.
The winds would blow, the rains would fall,
Yet...
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