about the temporary stasis we call life
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I am but a flower, Found in the light of the sun, Swaying beneath your feet, Growing in the ground on which you run. I am but a moment, Appearing in a season; However this so,
Herald the majesty of the minute, The sweetness of the un-lasting second, The not-gentle rage of the light once lit; Look not and worry not of the quick end. Let this be an ode to all that exist,
but I knew that the work was honest so I stayed until the winter equinox turned the pads of my fingertips raw. and bloody. during my time in Monte Del Diablo.