uploaded Nov. 28, 2011.
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Seasons Pass
In a pot
Wilted flowers demand attention
Below is a pit
Holding the source of life
A score is told within the green
But here brawn dominates
Life had passage
Perhaps a new form will emerge
The old lady scratches her weathered face
Pondering her own life
As she spades vacant pots
Hoping for the same kindness in passing
—James W. Collins
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