Abe V Rotor
Over a white flower in repose;
All day artists worked in spell;
As she held her breath to a pose,
One by one her petals fell.
Lives this flower in brief and rush,
Except the bees she defied all,
To lend her image to the brush,
Until she met her fall.
And the artists looked up the sky,
White clouds they searched row by row,
For flowers through their creative eye,
Flowers that everyday grow.
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