A Bud Has Bloomed.

Oh oh oh how grand, a bud has bloomed here in the sand. It grows low against the land and it takes whatever dew it can. Weaker ones burst all around in droves in groves and richer ground. Careless breeze and honeybee, some seedlings fly into the sea.

{Oh oh oh how kind your nature was then at the time love was sewn in dimming light but you told me it would be alright. Was it nature on its course that choked us, cut us from the source? Or was that watershed not deep as you had led me to believe?}

Every morn and every night, blooms are born to sweet delight, and each night and every morn, some to misery are born. Some to misery are born.

Oh oh oh how fine the animal poems she’d sing in the night, so I should never mourn a light bathed in and burned in and known all right. The dew from her brimming eye, the blossom seized to keep alive and it lived low a little life.

{Oh oh oh how strange that you would find no place for blame, just a draught, the play of fate, not the seed of doubt allowed to germinate in a greenhouse not a grove, it was careful hands that helped it grow. They callous from their honest work, yours hid secrets in the dirt.}

Every morn and every night, {our hearts were still}, Blooms are born to sweet delight {Some sit upon a sill} and each night and every morn {They await the dew} Some to misery are born. Some to misery are born {As I once waited for you}.

See the way men beg for you like the tides? Pulling at your legs, violent and malign I have used my waves, my weight, my might While you wade in them safe, keeping your hair dry.

{Nature does not deceive, It does not lead to believe. Fertile or plagued with weeds, soil is honest in everything.}

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