No matter how many words
I have at my disposal
Or how elegantly I use them
They do me no good in the quest
To reclaim the promising flower
Which had the potential to mature
But deviated into the dense shrubbery
Of mistrust and confusion
As much as I have a fierce yen
To salvage the flower
To a greater extent, I wonder
Whether the flower is maturing in the shrubbery
Only to reveal a hardened foundation
Or simply wants to live among the shrubs?
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