Zachariah isaboke


A Flower, A Far

Time was a second less to a flicker,
In a town distant not to the eye,
That I stood to look a far a flower,
As fair not of the land I stand.

It was maiden a bloom, white a color,
Swifter, a wind follower, tender to bend,
And content to welcome a bee a cross,
Yet, not a feet of mine an inch closer.

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