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The sun
Not a creator, necessarily, but certainly god like
Giving life to the seeds as they sleep
Two worlds, so alike in their fervor, pulsing with life

And yet so different as well
From darkness to the brightest sunlight they emerge
The smallest of green tendrils
That tie together above and below
The perfect definition of a bridge between

And as the roots conquer the land underground
The leaves will reach towards the sky
Unending, expanding

Yes they will die
Their leaves will wither and their roots cease to explore
Their colors will fade until the brightest hues are no more
But the most beautiful thing about wildflowers
Is that out of their death will always come a new life


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