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November Pea The love for growing things was imprinted in the DNA of certain ancestors and passed down to us, irrevocable and indestructible, regardless of the degrees in Journalism or Engineering or Foreign Relations we may hold. With that gene, burning its way into our cells, we are drawn to the mystery of the soil, and with eyes that see far beyond their natural ability, we find that little green tip of a determined late pea looking up at us, with wonder. That little pea, planted too late, is just as determined to achieve his purpose against all odds as we have been to achieve ours. And when we have sized- each-other-up, we know, with joy, we have each had our chance to see the stars. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Medard Louis Lefevre Jr. On Date: 2014-11-15 06:28:14
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 1.00000
Wonderful and beautiful. A style that I can relate to. No technique comments, because I do not know technique. I just know that I liked this writing and being mostly scientifically trained with the wonder of creation, I greatly admire your presentation. Thanks!
Medard