In the same way a red blossom
is not hidden by overgrowth,
your dignity has an awesome
superiority that both
shames me and makes me your lover;
it glows through the thickest cover.
This is why I want to believe
in preordination. I grieve
when I see myself; I wonder,
Do my eyes shine with that innate
excellence? Are my shoulders straight?
Can you look and see what's under
my skin? If I weren't something low,
wouldn't my inner goodness show?
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