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She was lovely as a calla lily…
magnificent and beautiful,
sophisticated and powerful;
she bloomed mystically.

She was much more than she appeared to be…
she was far more than a pretty face and a slim waist.
She had so much substance behind that pretty face and that slim waist…
she was much more than I cared to see.

At the root of it all,
my foolish pride was illy.

If only I’d stopped to smell the roses,
I could have cherished my calla lily.

The Garden of Love is no bed of roses,
I miss my calla lily.

They say love is stronger than pride,
my ego said “Nope! NOT AT ALL!”

Truth be told,
a calla lily is not a lily at all.

Nevertheless,
I should’ve fought for love…
when I had a calla lily in the palm of my hand;
now I’m picking the petals of a daisy,
thinking of my calla lily,
plucking dandelions,
blowing the seeds off of a dandelion globe,
making calla lily wishes,
waiting for dandelion snow to fall.

@StevieStreets #nobedofroses | Calla Lily

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