A Passing Thought Summer lily t’was I, Vibrant, full of seed, With skin of an apple tugged freshly from the tree. A passing mote of pollen caught beneath my wings, future hope yet unfulfilled of the promise that it brings. From my pistil, joy sprung forth. Mirror image mirrored, looking back at me gazing skyward phenomenally, indeed. Stars that shone above did not fade away. The earth nonplussed continues in its cycle.
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