Suddenly attentive at the instant
The instance draws near
Slowly and more slowly now
Evanescent and fragrantly rosy oh boy!
What fun it is
Greeting what happens next
The poem whose
Words become a blazoned face
The poem whose attendant amiability
Names what it cannot speak
What it can only wish to do
O no more dolorous possibilities
Gnawing faintly hopeful clouds
No more spite in the velvet pity
Waiting down a long sweet song
That smells only vaguely true
Don’t these exhausted roses ever think?
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