The Garden Of Souls

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Feelings are fickle
They bless the cry of the newborn
And grow within each heart
Like wildflowers, a tapestry
Of different blossomings
Different offerings
From the depths of each soul
Each flower is as good as the other
Including the one that blooms only nightly
And the one which remains a bud.

(I initially published this as "The Garden As A Demisexual Ethnostate" for the lulz.)

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