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Poetry

There are no more strands left to tweeze. The patch underneath the eyebrow is bare. 
There are no more holes left to dig. I’ve uncovered all of its hidden depths.

There are no more tulips or roselings and poppycocks. Or daffodils, peonies, and sunflowers. 

Flowers are not in bloom- not now or any longer.  

It might just be too late.