Wednesday, August 04, 2004


The stalk that sways
in a grassland that is now barren
Waiting for the day the stalk dies
Or plucked away by a careless hand
Maybe even blown away by wild wind

The roots used to hold deep and firm
Entwined with roots of other stalks
Now it is all gone, nothing to regret
Just whiling the turn of days and nights
Till the stalk that stands alone
Meets its end.

- Resurrected, June 2004


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