A red rose ripples, swirls around and goes
out of sight.
In recall the night
turns around and flows.
The night of the rose
and the rose of the night,
dim and dark,
bright and light
in the coming and going
of the winter fog.
Do not catch it;
do not wish to own
neither the rose nor the night.
If arrested beauty withers;
if caught in a vial
the perfume fades.
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