Beauty with a capital B
So full and round with your
Soft mewing and articulate consonance
As if uttering your essence with great reverence
Willing
Being
Into
Day
When
the light from the sky
Darkens with its own solemn call
And mornings hold the sound of owls
Long past the hour of rising
We
reach
For the paling repetition
Of color
Falling petals
from unopened buds
To gather into the earth,
Our hearts
For
Beauty
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