I don't want to wait until I'm old enough to know better.
Mistakes are a rose who's petals are to be plucked.
Who's thorns long to prick.
I don't want to wait until the full of the moon.
Who's orb is eager to wait for the sun to change it.
I will be as winter.
I will sweep through the pines and melt nowhere.
And when spring comes, I will be touched.
And melt.

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