She can be as gentle
As the opening and closing of a flower,
With her morning, noon, and night
Encased in each hour.

The soft silence of a breeze
Touches warm golden mornings
With a rustling of small leaves,
On loosely framed awnings.

A delicate aroma is encompassed
In the invisible emanation,
Which life depends on solely
For her noble creation.

It is the tender fragrance of flowers spread open,
To reap the warm rays of a sun
That only in silence has spoken.

ESM

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