This rose – red, scented, rich, without price –
is it speaking to me?
I cannot hear what it says. And yet…
is it watching me?
it does not blink. And yet…
is it urging me to action?
it gives no sign. And yet…
this rose – so gloriously – is…
so does it know all this?
is it beyond all this?
for while I watch it
and wait for an answer
I know myself more.
perhaps the rose
is not the answer
but the question
and I the answer
and the answerer
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