Specially the lower ones,
And runs in between
A curve line very thin and fine,
A prominent and very artistic
Statistic mystic and fantastic,
With bright red small lines
Spread as the branches of veins
As clear as mountain snow pristine
A pack of honey a bottle of wine,
A legume of an orange a swollen pod
A plum, a hanging grape, a dripping drop.
I was a fool, a buffoon suddenly taken aback,
My mind and eyes played with me a nasty trick
It was neither a beautiful pair nor a single lip,
But of a beautiful tree a beautiful leaf.

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