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Joy in a blade of grass

Updated: Mar 7

Sometimes words come

Sometimes they do not

I've ceased caring either way

When they come I write them down

When they do not

I sit in my own radiance

I find words clumsy

Born of mind

Rough and crude

A primitive communication

Destined to die out

In years to come

Instead, just be sensitive

Make solitude your friend

Quietude your lover

Then you may discover

The joy in a blade of grass

And the depth of the unspoken



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