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A leaf, a source of meditation,
In it carries all creation.
What mighty hand did each cell call,
To cluster, curl, spend, fall.
An appointed time to end the seam
To color, myriads of green.
Yes, I’ve heard of photosynthesis.
Who accepts that only repeats, limits, fences.
How awed am I, you little green leaf,
Who gave the will to pen this rhyme sheaf.
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