Like small boys who first pick flow'ring weeds for mother,
I see new things and run to share with others too.

But wonder's in the thing and not my knowing it.
For beauty is before it's seen and shared about.

And maybe there is wonder in the sharing too.

For beauty too is something good to be beheld.

But silly would we think the man who cherished weeds
For there is more to share than what we know today.

But seizing this world for our own makes good things small.
And thinking we have known it all makes us fools still.

But turned toward the sun and rain like flowers do,
We start to know the world and ourselves again.


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