the flower is a circle made of truth
woven in the leaf parchment alphabet
by an abstract expression of its worth
when beauty was ineffable at first
and stood as itself the pattern of earth
spun from the same light fiber loom like wool
but softer far softer than soft can touch
drawn from liquid crystal dewdrops of dew
and sifted through the wooden green iris
with which light sees itself in its image
beauty is an after-thought adage
the flower is the answer in the dark
when nothing can be seen but the darkness.
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