A man ponders ponds and bowers Beyond those he has known Along a bed of flowers That by his home had grown. Sunflowers, titans tall, Towers of the field; Totems to humanity's fall, To you my pride I yield. Blooming and basking In bright beams divine, Without which, your face masking, You wither; your plight is mine. Man and garden, till and toil. Shine and shrine, soul and soil.
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