Song of the Three Seeds in the Macaw's Beak

Cracked by that accurate beak,
Turned by that rubbery tongue,
This is the final song
The first seed sung:
“By no inner instinct
Is my core stirred,
Forced to the light
By this gaudy bird.
“A taste on the tongue,
A fraction of power
Am I who might be
A tall sunflower.”

Cracked by that accurate beak,
Turned by that rubbery tongue,
This is the final song
The second seed sung:
“In direct descent
With no single break
From the first sunflower
My line I take,
“Dull duplication!
Is this not best—
To add to the bloom
Of a scarlet crest?”

Cracked by that accurate beak,
Turned by that rubbery tongue,
This is the final song
The third seed sung:
“Whether grown great
By one's own law,
Or submerged to a fraction
Of red macaw,
“We return to the nothing
From which we came.
To me at least
It is much the same.”

Cracked by that accurate beak,
Turned by that rubbery tongue,
These are the final songs
The three seeds sung.
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