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Loneliness
Even during the night the pain persisted. But when the pain was at its worst, dew fell on its leaves and shoot. It felt so good.
"That must be God’s fingers relieving my pain," thought the rose.
Summer went by and the pain eventually disappeared. But who would discover the rose?
The terrible fog might hide it or the rain might beat it to the ground and then no one could find it. Would it be waiting in vain?
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