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The Root

Son of beast,
or man’s best friend?
If I leave you to be judge,
will the story ever end?
Dear Adam,
savor an apple.
These woods are all too clear.
Dripping stone raindrops,
hearken winter’s slumbering ear.
Spring upon human’s feats,
until the grass greets a deer.
Man grips rotten nature,
thinks it has no chance.
Grizzly chuckles at this sight,
says, “well, that’s no romance.”

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About FindEve

Turn out the light.

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