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O God who made the dandelion gold to scatter wealth before our beggared eyes despite our banal impulse to excise it ere its propagation; Who unfolds an augur’s dream along the roadside, old as light in every petal that denies night’s boast in concert with the rising sky and contradicts its grey conceit to scold it over the horizon; Who prepares the sight of children to discern and share such wisdom as would shame the learned men who see the world but not its bright amen; Have mercy. Help me mark the promise bound like golden cords across the darkened ground.
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This poem was generated by the author’s human mind. No AI chatbot was used.
This is excellent. So careful and deliberate, yet fluent. And I love where it ends, especially in dialogue with the beginning about scattered wealth despite our impulse to excise it before its propagation. Powerfully put.
Also the reading aloud is wonderful. Thank you.
"But not its bright amen." Yes.