Forgive me, seedling, in your pot,
Who dreams the glory of the tree,
I cannot keep you as I ought
To bloom for all eternity.

Your fate’s determined in the soil,
And counted up within a span,
No matter how you thrive and toil,
You will end up where you began.

Like you we wither to the ground,
Return to dust in humbleness,
Despite the strength within us found,
To mortal ends we acquiesce.

And yet our times beneath the sun
Reflect His glory to the skies,
There’s goodness just the race to run,
Each moment to immortalize.

Perhaps it is enough for us
A single soul to edify,
That nothing is more glorious
Than nurture life until we die.

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