Being.
When I, on looking closer at
sun-beaming roses see
how sweetly they all meet
some Holy Decree of quietly
being themselves and
letting me just be me, I find
something vital drops
into my beating heart, like
a phial of truth newly bottled.
Proverbial coating begins to
slide with knife-like
precision and slits the plush
of pleached thought, mind
open I catch sight
of flora\'s pure motive much
clearer and now know
why a rose desires to be
naught but a beautiful rose.
So how I wish to be
no more than me.