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Too often it seems
We are like leaves in a stream
Bumping into everything
While others stay clean
To be stoned or twirled around
Like a sad laughed at clown
Or to move swiftly and freely
Where only success is found
This is what I see
Of the stream before me
But surely things may change
As time will rearrange
The twirling troubled leaves
May set themselves free
Or be displaced inadvertently
By a passing free leaf
Or maybe not so
Maybe some will never go
They will sink in their little sea
To have death only set them free
{Scroll up for poem or home}
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