The trees, they grow, as buds explode in color and in bloom,
The sun is high, swift bugs do fly, as swift life pierces gloom.
And in this bliss, no one may miss, the breathing, ebbing soul,
That flows through all, the large and small, uniquely beautiful.
Yet even should, the leaves and wood, fall black in smooth decay,
The dark and rot would inspire not a rebellion from the day.
For beauty lives and breathes in this; the natural and the real,
If dark or light, if day or night, reverence s…
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Posted on December 1, 2008 at 11:39pm —
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