Who could have guessed this pink? And who could know
that it would gather here within these clusters?－
Their colour gradually fades away,
as gold on gilded things wears out through uses.
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Does pink endure to smile down from on high?
Shall there be Angels, welcoming and tender,
when prodigal as scent, it has to die?
But maybe they simply fall,
perhaps to spare it from its withering.
Beneath the pink a green, forever listening
and withering already, now knows all.