sure feet plant themselves upon shifting sands

defying urgent notice lent to ears by others, older

take root, settle in, spread seeds, tend the land

because beauty wilts without proper plans

for a garden of aging roses boasts

little in value and little in yield

possessing a fleeting idea at most

of weightlessness; freedom bound to no host

for what is more beautiful

then that which is uncertain?

tend as you do and watch

delights bloom

short-lived and always a spectacle

sands shift, flowers die

no sure footing. but we can pretend

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