Like the timid "sensitive plant" that shuts its lips
to the feeble caress of tender finger tips
Your lustrous-warm eyes are too contemplatively kind
To disguise the relevance of your calming tale,
Your guarded life too enchantingly frail
In opposition of the bullets of my combating mind.
There is no part of the unloosening world,
Even exposed rocks where the birds create their nest,
Will give us mild and congenial rest.
No degeneracy diminishes this vast belt of insufficiency.
That light in bundled files in all the grounds,
we may join ravenous, concord hands,
And toast our share of eager love and life.
Photo by: The Powerful Word
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