I know a girl; her name is Rose.
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She has long hair that’s thick and dark,
and sad, green eyes above her nose;
and she can sing just like a lark.
She loves to read, and is well-read:
she’s a genius, and knows a lot—
in truth, there’s so much in her head
to now attempt than just let rot.
Glad to say she’s now a student
enrolled in classes at a college:—
how wonderful, how elegant
that she’s in a place of knowledge!
‘Ere long, she’ll finish with honors
and graduate with distinction
with a master’s conferred upon her
to pursue disease intervention.
In all this time, I’ll support her
and be the best friend that she needs;
I’ll be there just to exhort her
and heal her wounds in case she bleeds.
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."