in this grasshopper, I mean,
who waits so greenly at the dock,
prepared to fling her sails into the wind
and glide, and float away upon a prayer;
who fills her idle hours
drifting on the shallow seas
and dreaming of a breeze?
What else should she have done?
With life so short, so quickly gone,
would not you choose as well to smile;
to step into the light and lift your face
to the wild and precious gift of sky?
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