The rose was
not looking for the morning:
on its branch, almost immortal,
it looked for something other.
The rose was
not looking for wisdom, or for shadow:
the edge of flesh and dreaming,
it looked for something other.
The rose was
not looking for the rose, was
unmoving in the heavens:
it looked for something other.
-Federico García Lorca
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I wonder what the rose was looking for.
This poem is so lovely.