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
as a guiding
light
they wilt
breath away
