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Worth

About this poem:

A verse in which Teal speaks to us about worth.

Without all ornament, and with substance still,
To love one’s self, despite life’s tainted course is no kind of false art form.

Is worth so faint a thing to perceive?

The seasons of life that cover it in complex cobwebs 
Would have you forget that potential… Is worth.

And all that dies around it, leaves it green.




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