On The World Poem by james watkin
On The World
In itself tis nothing, what soil lends
This pride of life its state.
Into seas, eternal, is washed out.
That orchid, with its pout!
All white-blazed ends, natures noble-raised
By any one of earth's
Swarthy struggles are served. Butterflies
Had not always that guise!
Saturday, June 29, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: spiritual
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3/1/2026 3:29:08 AM # 1.0.0
