Wait
“Make haste and wait” he said
Tiptoe the fine line among the dead
Picket fences pass to memory
By design, now is an interruption
Where the past and future align
By the wooded tree line
Fine squirrels play in careless debate
To bury artifacts from the living tree
Plucked from where they lie in state
Into the vast dark wonder they sow
To be a mighty oak
Or something to devour on a winters mourn
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