Cuckoo sings the song of joy
But crow cries the words that fly
In tandem which ambiguity deploy
Same color but different modes apply.
Crimson rose with color of blood
Oozes when we pluck the bud
The thorns near the flower
Make knows its power.
Thorns of pain are near aspiration
Songs with varied tune are in reason
Choosing which to listen and pluck
In earth takes a lot of work.
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