Little Song
as we grow
apart like the whimsy of picturesque
clouds
rushing pulsating breaking
into storms
and growing bigger better stronger
by each second
forgetting
what has been
the tiniest spark
in our eyes
the thing we wish
we dream
as we grow
wiser and bolder and old
is there still
any value
in the stalk of bean
the scale of carp
or the pot of gold?
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