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A Growing My own gardener, you shaped me as I grew. Encouraged me to push down deeper roots and feed And I blossomed under your care. Brilliant flowers of happiness lit the branches of my being When the axe struck, it did not cut clean. It tore a wound Into heartwood. And I bled my hopes and joys Into ground that found no nourishment in them But I grow again, even without your sunshine. And this gaping hole will heal. Overlaid with new maturity. Transformed with quiet strength. A thing of beauty, From a cruel blow. ©2007 tarana |