Soil

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Dark, moist, wonder in my hand,
Living, breathing, nurse of seed,
Foundation of all,
How many dead leaves have you known?
How many men?

The peace you must have known,
Having flown as a bird,
Leaped as a frog,
Thought as a man,
Loved as a woman.

Eternal life or living dead,
When I am to be set among you,
Cast my ash with the wildest of daisies.


–Richard H. Goodman

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thingsthatsing
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