​I am driftwood
washed up
on the shore

seen as refuse
but once part of
something more

Part of something
living, thriving
in the earth

Taking root,
weathering vicissitudes
ever since my birth

I am a tumbleweed
tossed about
by dust devils

at the mercy
of the four winds
until siroccos settle

I am the rotten log
tossed into the fire
fated to become ash

but I burn brightly
warm and glowing
and will until the last.

M. Zane McClellan

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