In the blithe breeze
A baby’s hand opens to the light.
In a daze, the radiant blaze, towering flower
arching toward the golden solar rays.
In a time-lapsing daydream, it rises, stretches
and unfurls, soaking in and beckoning the sultry Sol,
the simmering summer Sol.
No wonder it is seen as good luck.
First conceived in childish crayon,
It bears the ragged, jagged...
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