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An Old Fashion Valentine
My love--and who can tell it;
there is no depth so great.
No breadth so all consuming;
no mortal child of fate,
Could ever tell it's quality,
and magnitude and strength,
Could ever find a comparable love
throughout Earth's breadth and length.
And yet, with all its magnitude,
it lies within my breast.
A rose that searches for the sun
to make one small request:
Oh, let me bloom, and thus fulfill
the purpose of my life
That when I die, my love may mourn
a perfect loving wife.
-D.K.
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