A young bud has blossomed ,
Flummoxed by the extravagant sky,
Perplexed by the resilient ground,
He crawled forward, intrigued.
Walls weren’t defined yet,
Master he was himself of his own device.
Sometimes he sat on the stars,
Sometimes he swam under the grass,
And Sometimes he just ran.
Then appeared scholars consumed by self,
Their imposed education burdened and walled hundred shelves over his endless shelf.
Rules were the new roots, etiquette and morals and manner, his future.
Limits was the new success stars were nowhere near his reach.
The stars remained there so did the grass, but
He ran across them to be on time, dont dare, rules you won’t breach.
Crawl you never will, bewildering be killed.
The bud is now a man, dried, with lots of water, dull with enough money for a shiny coat.
A young bud now fits in but with no beauty.
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