It never rains but it pours
As one old saw cuts it
And I stand amid the deluge
The wood that would perhaps make an ark
Pulped and processed differently
Another old saw:
Can't see the forest for the trees
When the trees are leveled
No forest remains
Can't see the forest if there are no trees
They have been harvested
Yet I am still benighted under their boughs
As I stand in pounding rain
Trying to carry out my own harvest
I do not know if I am succeeding
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