Who, If Not You

As the flower knows 

When its butterfly will return 

And the earth knows when the rain

But knows not that if it’ll be

Withered soon, if not into bits

By hands that swayed mighty will

 

As the flower knows

So do I, will stand by gilded stones

To watch return,

Who, if not you?

Half-fadeth, half-etiolated

Who, if not me?

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