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At first you were a tiny seed.
Some said weed, but I said
seed.

But then you became a
blooming fruit, a blooming
fruit inside my womb.

But soon you broke free
no longer part of just me.

O, flesh of my flesh, you
were once just a seed.

O, how hard now it sounds
and seems to believe.

Not a weed, nor a
seed. But something
more.

"O, dear you, O, flesh of my
flesh. You're the apple of my
eye."