Beauty

It is adorned in all who thrall
And bent are the seeds
that produce without cease
Of spirit. In the wanting
becomes adherently pastured
Insisting on giving into
such a way it marks a path
Surely in its wrath,
it is leading with streams of hay.

It comes with pride of signs
nailed as stone to a fence
With last names that say
they’ve met their house as one
It neglects to react
In chosen arithmetic
Leaving out an answer,
so truly inviting
Is beauty.

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