On yearning hill,
Draped with daffodils,
With patterns of irises,
And dandelions to puff a wish.
On yearning hill,
A panorama so tranquil,
Camellias’ sheltered in my hands,
For the buried love in this graveyard.
On yearning hill,
Astilbe flowers are blossoming still,
And if in time the vines will wither,
I’d grow azaleas every spring and summer.
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InkHeart Poetry 