I have a friend who smells a flower
and says I do not see its beauty,
claims I murder to dissect.
But since I know much more than he,
of the silent atoms in their motions,
in the calyx, and the stigma,
in the flickering wings of a honey bee,
which smells the honey more than me,
I see a great deal more than he.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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