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Fate of The World - 09-14-04 @4:20 AM

Sitting on the edge
Of a single strain of grass
Unaware of a blade that hovers
Though afraid of an impending rumble
Of this engine as it tumbles
Ever closer

But this strain is blown aside
By a coincidence of improbability
This creature does not die
But does he understand
A mere insect by our categories
Or does he simply function
Like a man-made contraption
With the gift of procreation
Replication & self-restoration