Thine fairness 'twas not a rose petal picked;
But a thorn on which my heart's finger pricked.
Thine insight 'twas not a set mind's display;
But a call to join thine internal fray.
And to thine call, I did answer with haste;
Lest all thine true truthfulness be erased.
Alas, erased it had already been;
Truth giving way to the untruth unseen.
Once ago, I fell thee our Crimson Tree;
But now, this day, I doth fall free of thee.
With mine fall I doth mount the brazen sky;
Soaring high, glowing now, to see thee by.
Far above the newborn clouds do I gaze;
Down below to thine world of hidden praise.
For I view thee now as your flower grows;
Once again it sprung from a night's 'morrow.
Shorn thorns and petals nimbly dancing from;
Thine fairness and towards the setting sun.
Now with time befalling me, I do think;
One thought that thought to make my insides shrink:
If only then I'd made an altered choice;
Then at present thou could make speak thine voice,
"Mine unfairness 'twas not a chosen trick;
But a torn heart's whole and only lyric!"
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