More to the story more to the life
I’m reading or writing a fact
Without presuppositions or
Complaints about inadequate
Pollination however understandable
Or bleak the harvest looms
Each year it grows greater
And nearer the goal of lift-off
In the fall when the seeds
Lose themselves in the mayhem
And the earth abandons us
dwindling down to the one light
left on in a hallway at night
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