The Truth About Reality

"My years have never been acquainted to-- a fetching flower with so smooth a base, nor have they seen such petals boldly blue, and thus no right have they to spurn your grace." "I can't accept your praise, for you should know, with such a countenance I was not born. Do understand, my cast is that of snow, my slender stem-- a stalk of horrid thorn." "Preposterous: who'd don their own neglect? What does one gain through such abrupt deceit? I know the things my eyes and hands detect: or have the tangible betrayed Concrete?" "Reality's perceived at truth's expense," (so said the bloom he had or hadn't sensed.)