with that unripe Persimmon.
It had fallen off its Tree,
wanted to be free,
but it shriveled up
and died.
You picked it up,
just as you always did
with all the other little things
that caught your eye—
but you didn't put this one
in your pocket,
to my surprise.
You cupped it in your hands
and walked to the side of the road.
You placed it there
in the fertile soil,
to return it to the Cycle,
fulfilling its dream
betimes.
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