Late Bloomer

What dreams may come

to the midday mind;

What desires are buried

behind the eyes

of envy?

Tender

slender stems

of delicate lilies

white and frilly

feminine hems

of giggling skirts

and batting eye-

lashes.

Why does it hurt?

Graceful is pretty

swans sitting

on pristine ponds

of purity.

Soft petals flitter,

tremble, quiver

in an ivory sigh;

I’m just a bitter

weed you pass by.

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