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Daffodil

 Daffodils appear in jazzy faction. Their music caused the Pleiades to dance, or at least lush rain with Dionysian impact. Or just the yellow gust of immensity in the moment. Whatever clings to savor, let it reign. Daffodils strike their pose in a perfect time and meeting. No gossip, just imbuing. They make hay in the daunting time of time undaunted. Just look to the trees. And after the blossoms wear away, a new flower forms in the hidden bulb. Roots pull impressions and risings from the earth. All daffodil parts are there. Music exists as an internal hum, color becomes the breath of constancy. The new being grows in all its parts, as time will say in natural vocatives. The gleaming state fosters latent resolve. Merrie music seeds the day. And love resides in just that sweep, again the look, the eye, the sounding. Thus and therefore gangs the flower, the very flower of our day.

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