little flower outside my window
shaking in the breeze
i heard a story about you
tell me if you please
all these years i thought you
were the same every day
but now i am told different
this is what they say
that every night you die
and in the morning are replaced
by another little flower
with the same smiling face
every night i go to sleep
and every night i dream
and in the morning i wake up
having floated down night’s stream
am i the same
or different every morn?
have there been 10,000 mes
since i was born?
o little flower
let us face the day
are we, or they, or anything real?
who are we to say?
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