Poetry by | June 29, 2008

Though you are a mature cane,
You are still grass.

How did they mount your
Pliant body

With no ropes to knot you
If sand dunes rather strengthen

Your base node
Loosely you will fall

How long can
Your suntanned body endure

The light weight
Of a ceaseless work.

By now, rootless-


As you are;
No more sap

And soundless breath
To fend

This Artificial

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