Untitled
It’s not the past that makes you.
It’s the present that takes you.
To a future that’s your own.
From last seed that you’ve sown.
Whether it will bloom pink or blue,
You’re the key, you’re the clue.
Would you rather be gloomy on the hour,
Or caress the petals that flare whole flower.
Note: Please suggest a title for poem.
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