ACandy or breath mint; baffled still,
For why must one be often so defined?
Forsooth, the split identity fulfills
the raison d’etre, often, so combined.
I ponder this conundrum, as I find
a lovely, petaled flower, midst my herbs,
Should I snip the shoots before their time;
to opt for flavor or a bloom superb?
Alas, I cannot choose for both disturb
the garden’s purpose: chives are tasty, fine,
And yet to pluck the stem seems a preverb,
My purple blooms will never get to shine.
And so this simple blossom gives me pause,
At nature’s wondrous mysteries and laws.
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