
DAILY PHOTO: Lalbagh Glasshouse Under Gray Skies
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rain-laden blossom
falls… lands with a sound,
in the mud.

swirled striations
in the pond algae
reflect floating clouds.






No man is an island,
Entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less,
As well as if a promontory were:
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know
for whom the bell tolls;
I tolls for thee.
What have you been putting off doing? Why?
Answering this prompt, apparently. It’s been around several times now – I think.
Why? No good answer came to mind, before now.

the cannonball tree:
blooms bright & intricate,
but never delicate.