The breeziest touch
Does shock the mimosa
And sends her drooping
Into her own world.

Yet, just a while later
She comes to life again.
Not wilted;
Not killed for sure.

The moon
Waxes and wanes;
Death is a silent promise
of the coming birth.

Nature springs back
When beaten;
What is broken
Gets whole again.

Thus is nature
Meant to be;
Nothing ends defeated,
Nothing utterly perished.

Life bounces back,
From the deepest chasm.
This is hope.
The reason for living.

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