![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIBk5wute6bM5iyBhwrjEogXXGQ7M9xMz-_RNVtwLDorrPLxo7ju15yxVAxJna05Q3Z8cCx7kzCmdOPxQH0dVXjEewDHpLkuSgBRiFUjnJddd0CR8TTpXaa6l1z3Cpvk5hxBXAFz8Wzl0/s320/imagest.jpg)
You find a flower half-buried in leaves,
And in your eye its very fate resides.
Loving beauty, you caress the bloom;
Soon enough, you'll sweep petals from the floor.
Terrible to love the lovely so,
To count your own years, to say "I'm old,"
To see a flower half-buried in leaves
And come face to face with what you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment