A poem simply sounds the bell, o
f that which words could never tell.
INNOCENCE
I
nnocence,
Sweet flower of bliss,
The perfect child,
In boundless meadow,
Perfectly wild,
Naught to lose,
And naught to gain,
Save the kiss
Of sun and rain,
Heeding not
The gardner's hand,
Nor in need
Of other land.
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