MIDST MAUVE tipped thistles, a lily grows.
Solomon, who with all his sage solemnity,
Wealth, wisdom and regal identity,
Was not arrayed like a single one of these.
There by his side, this fragrant Arum Lily glows,
Her scent is wafted on the balmy breeze that shows
Earnest aspirants, such precious symbols please,
And gladden hearts, to set their souls at ease.
The Lily amongst thorns is likened to the Sage,
Teaching enlightenment by her silent gaze,
Among the flocks of folk in this bewildered age,
She lights a fire settings woods of dreams ablaze.
So praise fair Lily gracing your thistle field,
She cries "enquire my child, surrender ego, yield!"
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