Like the sweet-apple that's gleaming red on the topmost bough,
right at the very end, that the apple-pickers forgot,
or rather didn't forget, but were just unable to reach.
Like the hyacinth* on the hills that the passing shepherds
trample under their feet, and the purple bloom on the ground...
contrasting unreachable desire... with the taken for granted mundanes...which trample under our feet. somehow, the unreachable always seems better...more beautiful...than that which is in our reach.
*flower
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