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Smallest light, draped in skies,
Roundest way it may find,
Inside spiralling eyes,
Ancient fruits without rind.

For the plastic caterpillars,
Shall we make plastic trees?
Or invent some new pillars
To support the debris.

Trapped inside his coccoon,
Butterfly-wannabe
Scaring off a monsoon,
Plastic birth it may see;

Innocence can be bought
From the store nearby;
Faster can be absorbed
Into light, never cry.