Dowest the wind move humbly Westward
or evenly Eastward
or does it merely woosh at a practical partial standstill
for in the end it becomes erect
like that of rough routy red-brown rippling oak
so, I say unto you in your mode of existence
whirl - like that of an Autumn breeze
And pierce into quantums
like that of pine needles that fall soft and swiftly into eternity
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