The wind has taken the blossoms
And the fruit is set.
The roots that clutch,
Hanging onto the globe
And the branches reaching out,
Rising to the nimbostratus clouds
Are lodged in the troposphere.
In between earthbound roots
And limbs reaching for the stars
Are us, and our cousins
Clad in fin, fur, flesh and feather.
We must be in heaven
And if we're not
We're growing one
Right here, right now.
---o0o---
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