What treasures do we hold within ourselves,

While waiting for the heat to come after our blossoms fall?

Do we wilt below the heat of our own fears and shame,

Or allow ourselves to dry out upon the refiners furnace?

What of the fruits of our labor do we bear,

Have we planted hope within each seed knowing we will grow?

Not last upon this soil are we wasted,

The efforts of our lives hold meaning to us, but yet do others not hold us strong?

Let us release our fears, let go of our hate,

And scatter the beauty of our lives among this garden world.

-M.E. InkOwl

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