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Photo by Nelson Flores on Unsplash

Slender vine that climbs the wall,

Your windings now embrace and grasp

A hidden strength.

And when at length

Your tendrils die, you will unclasp

And, gently, then, in weakness fall.

But until then, who is to say

What deep ideals you can retain?

Your curling branches grope,

And in your thoughts you hope:

You need not ever live in vain

If but your soul be understood, some day.

Omnivorous lover of life with interests from poetry/literature and science to geopolitics, health and art. IFB.

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