The limbs of trees sag with the collection of too many snow storms in too little time, like Atlas condemned to hold up the world or the sky, to keep us from being crushed by the weight of it
we never quite get
our feet planted before some new burden befalls us. so we live like the trees must, enduring,
none of it seems fair,
we are always ask to bear more of the burden that is our share and often beyond
our capacity
yet somehow we do
this, being what life is, that distance between birth and grave, with little
recognition for our efforts, except if we are lucky
some aspect of faith that allows us to be remembered when
most are not
we like Atlas holding up the corners of the universe until
someone with wider shoulders relieves us
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