Life, how much should I love thee?
And in which form and appearance?
Is it the one inside me
Or, the heart’s praise for that flower with fragrance?
The flower possessed by fear,
Love it is, or owner’s craze?
While, wildlife throbbing near,
And the flower still uncaught by
Someone’s love-net’s maze.
Why must a flower be loved?
Is it that it appears beautiful?
Or, love it creates which moved
An inward passion from death's pull.
O thou flower, I love thee more than the self,
For thou art the dreamy life unpossessed.
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