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Persistence, I have heard wishes to touch the moon.
The prickly Bougainvillea does not require a nod
to harbour the bloom of large pink, purple, white
blooming sight, which wishes to protect the flower pod.
I have never felt more at home, but when I do
It is the love of the most precarious sight.
Beauty raises it’s height in a persevering soul.
But, perseverance is never meant to mould
life into love of fine, gold or cold firing.
I have it but does it help? If it does, what makes
It so folded, razed and barren, what makes people
Look at it with awe, holding a taming saw.
I have grown in a valley where nothing else grows.
I mow the lands where people have lost their vows.
I try to reach out, yet it does not help.
I try to blend but perseverance is a huge kelp.
Asking for more and more and more.