When roses bloom, a rose will be a rose; it always was and it will be. But now, wokism, imposes it, and the carnation is the rose, the celindo, too; the poppy, behind…
The love of my life has already sprouted, which will forever be original, and shows me, with skill, its flower. What color could imitate, like you, my rose?
You were a red rose; you are, now and forever, you will be!
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