Long Hours Trail In Their

One Flower May Slay The Winter And Meet Death.

I Fear No Man, No Woman; Flower Does Not Fear Bird, Insect Nor Adder.

Cheat Me Not With Time, With The Dull Ache Of Flesh, For All Flesh Turns, Even The Loveliest Ankle And Frail Thigh, To Bitterest Dust.

The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.

Every Concrete Object Has Abstract Value, Is Timeless In The Dream Parallel.