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A Poem: Faith 

The mizuna was bushy

And this was bad, exactly

Not how it was supposed to be,

According to a bossy seed packet.

Stunted growth, it warned reproachfully.

And so I took a deep breath and pruned.

Plucked out healthy lettuce handfuls

As if they were trash.

Remembered how ancient this was, how long ago.

How the expertise was in the soil and the little, white root,

And certainly not in me

As I held my breath and waited.

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