A tribute to the infinite charm and exquisiteness of the cycle of life

Emily Dickinson

Beauty — be not caused — It Is

Chase it, and it ceases

Chase it not, and it abides

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow — when the Wind

Runs his fingers thro’ it

Deity will see to it

That You never do it

They bloom as though the world needs
Their beauty
as a guiding
And then
they wilt
They take our
breath away