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Λšβ‚Šπ“†©ΰΌΊπŸ•·ΰΌ»π“†ͺβ‚ŠΛš

𝕀ℕ a sombre graveyard's lonely grace,

Where shadows dance in a mournful pace,

A crow alights, its feathers dark,

A silent watcher, in the moon's soft arc.

Yet amidst the stones, in a bed of thorns,

A rose blooms, where death adorns.

Its petals crimson, a vibrant hue,

In the graveyard's silence, it breaks through.

The crow, with eyes of gleaming coal,

Finds beauty in the rose's toll.

Its heart, once bound by shadows deep,

Now stirred awake, from its silent sleep.

Through whispers of the night, they meet,

The crow's caw, the rose's sweet,

A love that defies the realm of gloom,

In the graveyard's embrace, they bloom.

Together they dwell, in that hallowed ground,

Where life and death in beauty bound,

For love knows not the boundaries set,

Even in the darkness, it finds its sunset.

Β Λšβ‚Šπ“†©ΰΌΊπŸ•·ΰΌ»π“†ͺβ‚ŠΛš

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