Sunday, August 1

Branches of date palms with dangling fruit,
beware, ye unaware, of sudden knocks, overfoot!
A reason to be's not necessary for me
For being is its own end in eternity.
The aforementioned date palm, taken again,
Consider it well, then count to seven.
Then, only then will I know my will
to go forth and multiply like grain in a mill.
My seed plentifully and duly spread,
deoxyribonucleic acid
is the skeleton key to everlasting life,
All that's left is to find the door.

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