Confined in a vase, in an element not of its own,
With each orbital movement, intermittent light and dark,
This twig of pine of a deep, healthy, intense green,
It is growing, progressively extending its tiny roots,
...
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Dine, Wine, Fine! With the muse of love and life. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
We all have a vase for ourselves, a vase full of dream awaiting to fructify, sometimes even beyond its limited confines. Fantastic write!