Evening primroses in the mid-morning heat: so yellow! As the sun climbs, the stigmas slowly retract their claw-shaped shadows.
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Evening primroses in the mid-morning heat: so yellow! As the sun climbs, the stigmas slowly retract their claw-shaped shadows.
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A PRIMROSE PATH DIALOGUE
There is no primrose path to paradise, Stick.
No, not sunshine yellow in mid-morning heat.
I am specially drawn to the bramble trail
of an endless desert. There is challenge there.
But look, the primrose stigma casts claw-shaped
shadows. Beware the simple; peril lurks there.
When the sun climbs, these claws disappear,
not unlike the oasis of a desert mirage. It’s not there.
Shall I walk then through this garden of primroses?
Nothing stirs here except the glare of buttercups.
Little wonder then that primrose paths are yellow:
Easy, smooth, untrammeled. Much travelled, too?
It is the coward’s way, Stick. No pain, no gain.
Huh? Why groan then? Why call our trek a real pain?
Shut up, Stick. Follow the primrose path of sunshine.
Huh? Why? Who said a ball of Jell-o is coloured yellow?
—Albert B. Casuga
06-08-11
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