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With a whisper you can’t tell
If it’s a boy or a girl
In the distance, through the trees
Making sense of the world

In a sea of wood and green
He or she might have made
No direction have we found
But to live for the day

Human nature is to bend
Physiology’s edge
We’re expanding to forget
Carbon sense in our heads

Twenty four or twenty five
Push the limit again
And the cycle we survive
In circadia’s chains

 - November 2001 -                                                              #015