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beyond the cosmos
to an ant, the
garden is a macrocosm of
deeply-rooted
wonder.
we have never
thought outside
the flower box, we
have never
but some day, when i
stray from the
pheromone trail, i
might answer the
age-old question: what's
beyond the cosmos?
and some day i
will discover that there
is no glory in
mourning.
beyond the cosmos lie
hydrangeas and
carnations and morning
glories and a
solo prized rose
bush and weeds and
weeds and
roses and sheathes of
ivy that grapple against
themselves and constrict
to be free-- to
climb towards the
light like we
were all
meant
to do.
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I love word play, and the word "cosmo" is both a qualitative word for the universe and a type of flower. We have always wondered what's beyond our atmosphere. At the same time, a flower is a whole universe to an ant, though it doesn't seem like much to us. This poem is about how the same thing can be so different, yet so similar.