I had known flowers
intimately before now
noticing the trees
Painting by Bertha Wegmann [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
The muse has been muted while we are both listening for some reason- we have both observed; Profound is not discovery, Epiphany is no certa...
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