Thank You, But
I once got a Beautiful Bloom,
not collared on a bookshelf
or some other dusty place,
truly treasured, maintained,
kept in cyberspace,
protected by my heart.
That being said,
In my ramble between
two eternities,
while this body’s work is such
joy, short-term judgements don’t
seem to matter much,
not the praise, nor the blame,
not the credits, nor the sins,
self-imposed or outer-given,
all of it mine to bear,
perhaps, even, with a bit of flair.
Most of my awards have long been tossed,
every plaque, every trophy,
all the ribbons, certificates and letters.
In the end, just stuff, simple praise,
the stories and smiling lies we raise
about them more valuable, far better.
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