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Five Lives

FIVE mites of monads dwelt in a round drop
That twinkled on a leaf by a pool in the sun.
To the naked eye they lived invisible;
Specks, for a world of whom the empty shell
Of a mustard-seed had been a hollow sky.

One was a meditative monad, called a sage;
And, shrinking all his mind within, he thought:
'Tradition, handed down for hours and hours,
Tells that our globe, this quivering crystal world,

Is slowly dying. What if, seconds hence,
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