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From a Flower's Perspective

Wind tossing.

  Evolved under Harvest Moon.
Dressed the virgin dawn
  with the petal spills
of my silent bloom,
  from such singular awakening . . .

I am soft-Fushia in my
brilliance
  that ended its Song to
possessive Bees.

What looks upon me
  is a Child who
stops to study

the folds of velvet enwrapping
  me . . .

   He touches lightly, at first
then I am ripped from my roots
and see not his face

   wince at the Sweet fragrance of
my Death.

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