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All standing in line
waiting to be collected
to be seed that sows.
Out of mother’s mud
a dark centered white flower
shines bright till it falls.
A Little mind thinks
what mystery have we here
under this new path.
One beginning spreads
following a blind bearing
and pay tribute too.
A small-minded mind
dimly creeps to the sharp edge
not feeling the end.
A youngling opens up,
to a world in riddles.
Ready to fly stars
restrained by the ebb and flow
of sunrise and set.
