Ice covers, contains, and conforms to the shapes on which it grows. All the while knowing it's temporal state. It seeks the ground, pointing the way to the earth, to the roots. The season dictates its place but the path remains the same. Now without providing protection, soon within carrying the life till it is once more released into the heavens. poetry with my thumb:)
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claps!! That was inspirationally awesome. And wow.
How do you do it? Tip!
I dont know, the voices in my head tell me what to write. ;)