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Ancient seed

I am built on limitations,
high ideals; expectations.
The subtle threat of Winter sun,
a thrush's song just begun.
Flowers weep my dewdrop tears.
Societies keep my newfound fears.
I am built for infant oaks,
attending dreams; concealing hoax.
You may find me perched up high,
never quite reaching the azure sky.

25 Mar 10

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Nice rhyme, subtle and adept.  And great flow start to finish.  Nicely written.
 — Tandisol

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