We mourn
most
those little girls
so full of hope
and life
and even beauty
as rose buds
yet to blossom
but now gone
open petals
sweet scent
in the summer sun
but our imagination
of what
should have
become.
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Truth (with a capital "T") is the elephant, and humanity the blind touching, sniffing, tasting, listening to this big "T" and of course we all rhapsodize a different tale (or tail?), yet in the end the big "T" is still the big "T" and all our various tales describe a tiny bit of that reality, the elephant.
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