'...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush.'
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down
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Such painful hours. A poem that runs deep, infiltrates hearts like unforgettable sad towers.
We can feel the inner pain, despite the sweet colored flowers, All poetry in vain, to hide
excellent poem shared; nice to read your poetic diction and theme