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The Seedling

A tiny seedling, sprouted too soon,
Sent forth leaves, but never a bloom.
The slender stalk was broken and crushed;
Its budding song was silenced and hushed.

A mighty oak, with sheltering leaf;
Grounded strongly, in hopes and belief.
Or a towering pine, with its needles of green,
Reaching upward, for dreams yet unseen.

Its bright promise was dimmed far too soon,
Like clouds obscuring the moon.
Its cry of farewell went unheard,
For seedlings can speak not a word.

It reached out with tendrils of root,
But the gesture was soon rendered moot.
In silence, it struggled for life
In a world torn by violence and strife.

A precious seedling was lost on this day.
We cried, but tears could not make it stay.
What beauty it might have unfurled,
To share with a cold hearted world.

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