A bearded Yankee sang of leaves of grass
But where were flowers bursting in color?
A bulb of ego can sprout in verse and sky
And water may hit India’s bottom of wind
Its hills shedding the tears of virgin’s loss.

The grass lily’s color hits you in the navel
And leaving dazed , prostate and falling,
Just woke from sleep of temporary fugue.
When camera view , it is unearthly color
Far away from rainbow’s seven or combo,
A view where flowers are just overstated.


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