May the source heal the wanderers.
Ancestor ants in the bazaar marching towards town’s end pilgrimage on life’s journey to the most ancient shrine.
The purest essence
besieged from sight
scented adrift
its charms for healing
to the broken hearts and souls
wandering on the earth
past and through
to the innocent faces
under the veil
the fondest fragrance
heals the oldest wounds
which were bedded by roses
under claims of glory and throne.
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