Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
No straight linesThere is beauty in absence of rhythm;
In trees that do not grow straight.
In splatters and blotches, in
Tangled up branches,
This lone, uninhibited state.
There is wonder in lines that are crooked;
Man's hand did not plant them that way.
Even so in a seed, not just that
It grows, but that wind
Brought it right where it lay.
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