Overheard
I am tired says the tree.
O the weight of blossoms, seeds, children.
But look say the roots.
I cradle all the longings of blossoms, seeds, children.
The blossoms have turned to seeds.
The seeds have blown away.
The children laugh at a small turtle swimming the air.
The children laugh at a small turtle.
The children laugh.
The children.
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Eerie