By Julietta Gramigni
Maybe
There’s real beauty
In searching through
And picking out
Each dying fruit
Whose colour wasn’t
Bright enough
And stem didn’t hold
Firm.
Each festering regret,
Time you thought
On every other path,
What you could have done
How wonderful!
That infinite lives grew
And are growing
And stretch out from
The bars of your mind
And make you whole.
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