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Aging and a Pacific breeze
Freed some captives from a tree
And merely by chance
They took to flutter, twirl and dance
And when the wind eased rested heads
Upon ebony lava beds,
Petals unsullied; quintets of creamy
Fingers tinged with greenery,
Split by spearheads of gold
Within recesses of curving centerfold.

One happened to catch the eye
Of an intrigued passerby;
The blossom-cradler grew pensive;
Caught up with quickened senses
The beholder's self-debate goes
On: which is the higher place,
The beauty of a delicate face
Or rare perfume delighting a buried nose?