rusted autumn marigold gilded ground enough
satisfied cravings for words of beauty not
ringing false repeating pulsing earth foul rot
cliché trite hackneyed beating that dead horse
that sinkhole is a pinhole that blooms (like roses)
but weakly hold a lantern against spiraling dark
appreciate what precious poesy a little posy poses
appreciate smelling the flowers' red and golden heads
give a kiss a pat and tuck them in their beds
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