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In the lowly soil, Between the weeds, A lone bud pokes its shy head to lead, Its ever struggling journey of toil. A single breath to take, A hand to pull you from a fall, Your first kick of a championship ball, A penetrating dive into a fresh water lake. All part of an ever-growing life, What ever you be, Whether it be human or tree, Through pleasure and strife. As time takes its toll and welcomes in death, The once lonely bud, Comes crashing to earth with a deafening thud, And so takes his last breath.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2006




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Book: Reflection on the Important Things