I once remarked down by the sea,
peppered white with frothy foam,
“My dear friend, can’t you see
that life is like a poem?

There’s the rich and fragrant loam,
each church-goer on bended knee,
and the cluttered cabinets in your home…

Each child giggling in infancy
and every moldy, musty tome
proves yet again, my dear, to me
that life is like a poem.”

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