A Special Seed

From a puny brown oval shell
shoots two, and two with carved edges. 
In anticipation of a higher 
day, given from mother nature. 

Twelve weeks past in culminating
redolence, verging to obnoxious, 
as sap oozes from cola pockets 
of sticky crystallized emeralds.    

Trichomes glint as light passes over
thick stalks ready to snap under 
dripping, bulbous flowers, staked 
upright to support our sanity. 

Moving amongst the woozy plants
is magic to another day, for kids 
who dreamed of mirages melted away. 
So we snip, hang, and burn in a cure, 
of fantasy’s lost in a haze. 

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