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May 2018
Lying deep
Beneath surfaces
Keep Barren
Ground We
Fall. Asleep.

Green shoots
Should sprout.
Not weeds
Of Could-
Lead Doubt

Yet hurtling
We cease
This hope
And relinquish
Such beliefs

Then again
Rising East
Ties which
bind Some
possibility

at least
Hope: that
tremendous beast.
Guiding low
and Exact.

To leave
Wise perhaps
Or water
And sustain
This. Momentary lapse.
A poem not about plants.
Written by
James R  Venezia
(Venezia)   
158
   Edmund black
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