A Reflection On Flowers
Perhaps in early morning dew
As one bud fades into decay
The green of spring is still anew
Where old roots cling in fertile fray
But what of rocks and moss and bark?
Are dreams of blossom’s change to sleep?
A foolish gardener will prune all change
Hoping to preserve rather than create
And if there are genetic flaws? please keep
Or perfections’ disasters you will reap
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