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When I was new I was a freshly woven cloth,
Warm silk floating on a cool breeze,
Unwrinkled.

I was a newly paved road,
Still smelling of tar,
Un-traveled.

A seed,
smooth, round, potential,
Un-sprouted.

A bending sapling,
Not yet committed to rigidity,
Unbreakable.

I was a fruit on the vine,
Not yet surrendered to gravity,
Un-fallen.

A new wind, the product of cool and warm air,
And the ever present spinning,
Not yet turned to stormy weather,
Not yet turned to calm.

August 1998

Virginia Lee Sprague ©2011