In a void I heard
Strains melodic from a rose;
Not a whit perturbed, 'tis but
This moment that it knows.
Do you think she even cares,
Twirling spirals through the air,
That the masses come in droves
To see her dance up there?
Though the rivers dry,
In the tomb of pregnant space
Th'eternal Spirit never dies,
Yet precious few have seen Her face.
Majestic canyons rise
From the foothills of the morn’.
And desperately men try
To reach their summit but are scorned.
A Pure beauty unrivaled
In her tapestry of light.
Her Passion is unbridled
As she soars in mystic flight.
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