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Retelling


See them holding hands, 
a hundred generations
strong. 

Wherever they camp 
a mountain top
the next always higher.

Sure as they celebrate 
potent discoveries 
and sparks of genius

prideful thoughts grow.

Let them wake one day
by absence of birdsong
feeling aggrieved.

Stumpy toes sink into sand
as gentle tides rinse;
let them realise THIS as destiny.

Let them find they're not built for utility
and finding their forte
become overwhelmed.

◄ Growing Up As A Rising Moon...

You, The Fiddler ►

Comments

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John Botterill

Sat 7th Jan 2023 09:41

A fine analysis of progress and where it is heading, Adam. 💪

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