Hymn
...after Wordsworth
pinched, the ragged daffodil
risen from new rollen earth:
points the way to risen sun
as slippered winter, disappears.
Then dance the lamb, more free
than they: bulbous, rooted, clod to clay:
who see not there the brighter day
of leaden coldness, disappeared.
Torn from tawn, ungilded shine
each petal held in prodigal:
for those inclined to witness time
when darkness washed, disappears.
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