It is purest before the scratch,
A stain on white,
Like roots it grows beneath,
Not seen but there till the
Point its pollen Comes forth,
And with each shard
Shattering on the purity,
Till like ash crushed to black.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
It is purest before the scratch,
A stain on white,
Like roots it grows beneath,
Not seen but there till the
Point its pollen Comes forth,
And with each shard
Shattering on the purity,
Till like ash crushed to black.
