A Relative World

By
The morrow
Has come,
Dawn stretching
Tendrils of
Freshly born light
To the dew on the
Lightning shot roses.

The world,
Being a relative world,
Carries in a
New day,
As somewhere,
Not very far away in the
Large scheme of things—

Night has come,
Evening retracting
Its tentacles
Of dying light
From the withering petals
Of the
Bloodshot roses.





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