FIRE IN THE LANCE
Prolific how the many flowers bloom -
like decay after growth, their own future
beckons. We all must welcome something.
The tincture of the weed - a sadder sight indeed -
is measured only by the value the blooming
of precious flowers give it. High contrast, this
realization of seeing both ends of the very same
channel. I want to bow to Nature; Natura, the
crazed mistress of parks and boulevards and
graveyards and lakeside pavilions. All the same.
The power, the glory, the sadness, the pain.
Earthly glory, enraptured beauty, a passing
and momentary rapture we can feel.
Prolific how the many flowers bloom -
like decay after growth, their own future
beckons. We all must welcome something.
The tincture of the weed - a sadder sight indeed -
is measured only by the value the blooming
of precious flowers give it. High contrast, this
realization of seeing both ends of the very same
channel. I want to bow to Nature; Natura, the
crazed mistress of parks and boulevards and
graveyards and lakeside pavilions. All the same.
The power, the glory, the sadness, the pain.
Earthly glory, enraptured beauty, a passing
and momentary rapture we can feel.
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