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For What It’s Worth
Stories of love and its descendants
are worth late nights with dream lands
Of one Cupid, she owned a garden
she grew roses, arrows and thorns.
For what it’s worth, love is not a girl.
Love is a dimple on your street.
My body, this body is busier than your street,
taking notes and lessons to my descendants.
When traveling through life, you need a girl
to grow your seeds when she’s from fertile lands.
For what it’s worth, your heart can grow thorns
when you think love is not love but a garden.
Think of this story, this life as a garden,
if your parents are trees, let your man not be a street.
Think of good luck to be thorns
and your legacy descendants.
For what it’s worth, we are travelled lands
only when the daughter is truly a girl.
Ruddapoet Rudolph