No-man kneads us again out of Earth and Loam, no-man spirits our Dust. No-man. Praise to you, No-man. For love of you we will flower. Moving towards you. A Nothing we were, we are, we shall be still, flowering: the Nothing-, the No-man’s-rose. With our Pistil soul-bright, our Stamen heaven-torn, our Corolla red with the Violet-Word that we sang over, O over the thorn.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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