She realizes now
that she did not
put her best
effort forth.
Is it too late?
I wonder.
I’ve catalogued
the times
when output
was slim.
To nothing.
I admit.
But in those
moments of
slag, found
something else.
Time spent,
isn’t wasted.
Even now,
as I stare
at the tree
that will bud.
Seemingly lifeless.
Yet reawakening.
I want to
tell her that
her laissez-faire
was purposed.
Nothing is
not happening.
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