A possible tomorrow in superposition
the poetry of life lately distanced and veiled,
the world is ill in a temporary affliction.
Yet still,
under the torment of rain intrepid seeds
strengthen
and audacious prayers
are sent toward heaven:
Hear our cry.
And lo I rest, now fore to toil
all my dreams obscured by the necessity of bread.
The arrow of time flies forward and on
today's harvest becoming
the remains of
a bygone
season.
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