one winter's morn,
the wind asked
the tender shoot of bamboo,
"do you enjoy when i blow?"
"indeed," was the reply.
there was a long pause.
the shoot of bamboo
then added, "i would prefer
once when you blew,
Mr Wind, that you gusted
so hard that it caused
me to snap in two."
the wind pondered
those words.
"why?," it asked.
"then i would know
you blew hard enough."
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
15aug10
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