I might be a plant,
seeding the need to be born again.
I might be a meteor's fading tail,
following your cosmic trail.
Yes, you heard it right
how can we write poems
When words were so scare,
and ink-pastels so rare?
So we thought of songs
to calm the streets,
bearing your weight all day long,
and yes, you heard it right.
But I might just be a little plant,
hoping to become a tree,
or just a pebble burning,
above the city sky.
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