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one morning, bland and weak,I heard a wilted flower speakof our future tribulationsof our far-off destinationsour technicolor tapestrylife’s seeming mystery to mea tightly coiled secret kepta trepid toil oversteppedthe whisper of earth’s voicea shiver scattered once or twicelike autumn’s petals in the windall our summer days rescinded This poem was written for this week’s Wea’veContinue reading “I heard a wilted flower speak”