The young plants die too soon.
They wither early, then fade
soft cinders sleeping on the grass.
Contracted, spinning on a wire in
quiet breezes; dangling like
Antarctic explorers grappling
with the Roof of the World.
Beauty hangs, precarious,
stretching forth green wires with
!!Coral explosions!!
Shivering in the biting wind,yet unafraid.
They weather the storms as chance may
guide them,
grasping life by the throat,
taking her in green claws rending
(their only voice)
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