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If I were to describe myself,
I think it would be a red rose.

The thorns would be my brick walls

Because, they will hurt anyone who will come near me,
It keeps everyone away,
They let people know to leave me be.

And the Rose would be my heart.

Because if with much luck,
You had surpass my thorns,
All that will be left in your hands
is a delicate flower.

That if thou not held it with great care,
Will wither and die.