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Eurydice

I‘d taken for granted, in my time
that I know not the flower
or it’s spirit, further in.
I’ve watched them grow through time and over;
seen the stem, the vicious thorn.
 
I know a rose to be a rose,
taking to context any other name.
I know the roots, I’ve dealt in weeds;
you’ve surprised me all the same.
 
That I might turn, with work-worn eyes,
weary of the fast man’s world
and see in frozen moments then
the glorious blaze, your hidden bloom.
 
It’s as if the child were renewed,
and I have to learn over again,
for the savage garden, creeping in;
no,
I get to, is the better term.
I’ll Propagate the species, then;
that such beauty never goes to waste.
Allow me, once, to spy the seed
where dead gardens yet may grow anew.

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