The Happy Accident of Life
Tell me the clouds aren't hung on fishwire
That it's chance should trees reach such like a spire
That even with elements scrambled so dire
This Earth can recover and shan't ever tire
At least not in our ages of apes
From a crown of thorns
To a wound that gapes
We keep finding depths
Far deeper down
In our minds and
Our actions
Refractions
We'll drown
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