I forget things
way too much,
and my dream-wings
curl out of sight,
and out of touch.
I have forgotten
choices I’ve made;
the fruits are rotten,
but they were ripe when
I picked and played.
I’m shocked to see
where I once stood;
high up, atop a tree.
I remember now,
oh, that was good!
I’m here again,
but forget I may…
Wait, where’ve I been?
Oh, I remember
this form of day!
My dream-wings shine
and I feel them stretch.
Fresh fruit is mine;
The seeds are for
the ground to catch.
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