Our center lies in the past
Quite literally
And the longer we live
The present becomes
By far the least of us
But when we admit to ourselves
Life is nothing but a process
We are that much closer to thinking
And living like a great elm or mighty beech
A photosynthetic machine
If ever there was one
Just do one thing
And keep doing it
Extremely well
Write that song
Paint that painting
Keep that vow
And somehow
Someday you
Just might end up
Ready to attain
A vast fullness in bloom
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