for all the beauty you profess
sometimes i wonder what is left
if over time the violet fades
and mourns the petals that wilt away
and if the stem is bare but tall
is any beauty seen at all?
the stem that proffered life from soil
no credit seen, no worthy toil
And if with beauty you also spy
concededness that underlies
slighted by every ugly word
clipped wings of a grounded bird
and feel no freedom in your bones
then better you be left alone
for no cutting word from my lips pass
your battle is at your own impass
and what choice have I in titles adorned?
all the choice in the world so best be warned.