In my 115th life I finally realized
This was at the change of moons
That the further into this world
I get the more difficult
It is to leave it
And the more contented I become
The more grateful I feel
Just trying to be as beautiful and sane
As any flower confronted
By my dreams which seem
The whole purpose of spring
Silly as tulips alive in late snow
For this alone I would return
For this alone I would return
To stand among them in the sun
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