"I have heard of this Frodo but my mother always kept me away from war and anything to do with fighting,she said I must make up for my size in loveliness."
"But lets not talk of that anymore.I am from far Lothlorien,and about me being here,why not I do not wish to only know of lovely things,instead I long to fight."As she says this she gazes off with a look of distane,recalling an awful memory of name calling and hurtful glances.
*How can I explain to him how hard it is to be different,longing to learn to fight,but always being forbidden,or laughed at*
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The red rose whispers of passion/And the white rose breathes of love/O,the red rose is a falcon/And the white rose is a dove/
But I send you a cream-white rosebud/With a flush on it's petal tips/For the love that is purest and sweet/Has a kiss of desire on the lips/
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