Saĝo

If she was recognized for who she is,
She’d be more welcome in our heart or home;
We’d listen, carefully, to what she says,
Not turn aside, consigning her to roam

But like a flower girl whose gifts are free,
But spurned by passers-by, and her ignored,
The beauty’s real, though none may ever see,
Who claim mere thoughtlessness as their reward

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