And just like that,
I am undoubtedly the wilt of a bloom to the length of a bird's beak,
Unwillingly, incontrovertibly, yet unpreventable,
It's one of the many miraculous ventures I endure,
Leaving me with the unwelcome wrath of who I am as an individual,
And how one might overcome life as a whole.

I am more than the average thought process with a thought process,
Thoughts that process at the cost of a mere chilled bone,
Bones that inevitably break,
As the foliage can not avoid the deprivation of the winter solstice.

I remain my own when I spot the flourish of the honey suckles,
And just like that the golden glazed honey withers to dust,
Reaching the crust of the very Earth that's shaped me.

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