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the poet's daffodil
When we see a mirror...
It shows not just our face
but our heart's desire—
I smile— it smile back,
not a window but never tire,
It can be seen... but never be touched,
You are me, yet your image is vague,
I'm not a painting, but a likeness of you—
a reflection, that will follow
a herald of love,
and a milestone
for rebirth—
preserve to bloom
and wither too soon,
lovely written poem,
all metaphors like home;
the first love is in the spring season,
Summer begins in June—
pleasing colors in September's autumn...
oh, yes lovely written poem,
but behind them... is poison,
just like a petal of the poet's
daffodil blossom.
6/13/24
© G. E.G. Martinez
It shows not just our face
but our heart's desire—
I smile— it smile back,
not a window but never tire,
It can be seen... but never be touched,
You are me, yet your image is vague,
I'm not a painting, but a likeness of you—
a reflection, that will follow
a herald of love,
and a milestone
for rebirth—
preserve to bloom
and wither too soon,
lovely written poem,
all metaphors like home;
the first love is in the spring season,
Summer begins in June—
pleasing colors in September's autumn...
oh, yes lovely written poem,
but behind them... is poison,
just like a petal of the poet's
daffodil blossom.
6/13/24
© G. E.G. Martinez
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