Nunca se es demasiado viejo
para establecer un nuevo objetivo,
o para soñar un nuevo sueño.
CS Lewis
𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘, 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚊́𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊,
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘́𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊́𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚘́𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚘,
𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚣𝚊 𝚎𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚊𝚓𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚙𝚊 𝚗𝚒 𝚋𝚛𝚞́𝚓𝚞𝚕𝚊,
𝚕𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚒́𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚜.
𝙽𝚒𝚗̃𝚎𝚣, 𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜,
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗 𝚓𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒́𝚗 𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚜,
𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚗̃𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚣𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚘,
𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚞́𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚊.
𝙹𝚞𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚍, 𝚏𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚓𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚘,
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊,
𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜,
𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚊.
𝙳𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚘, 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚢 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜,
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝚢 𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚊,
𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚒́𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚜,
𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚓 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚍.
𝙰𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚒 𝚟𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚣, 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞́𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚜, 𝚜𝚎𝚐𝚞́𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊,
𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚜,
𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚓𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚖𝚘 𝚍𝚎 𝚞𝚗 𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊́𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚘,
𝚖𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚌𝚒́𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚜 𝚢 𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚜.
𝚈 𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎, 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗̃𝚎𝚛𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎,
𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚒́𝚍𝚘: “𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚞 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘”.
𝙴𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚒́, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚓𝚊𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚗̃𝚘,
𝚗𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚘, 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚕𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚍𝚘.
𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚊,
𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚘 𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊,
𝚢 𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚘́𝚗, 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚣𝚊 𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚗̃𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊,
𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎 𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘 𝚞𝚗 𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘.
𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚎, 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚘,
𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚕𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚍𝚒́𝚊𝚜,
𝚙𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚒𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚜𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚊,
𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘.
@freewritehouse. Gracias a la comunidad #blockchainpoets por permitirme postear aquí. Si es de tu agrado participar, aún estás a tiempo, este es el enlace:Dedicado a todos aquellos poetas que contribuyen,
día a día,
a hacer de nuestro planeta, un mundo mejor.
Every new beginning
comes from the end of
some other beginning.
Séneca
The English version differs from the original Spanish version because if I translate it literally, the meaning, rhythm and syllable count are lost.
𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚋, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚑𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚖,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚙 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚜,
𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜.
𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍,
𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚜.
𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚔𝚢,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚜,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜,
𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛.
𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗,
𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢.
𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚜,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚑𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚣,
𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗.
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗,
𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚛: ‘𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎’.
𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚗,
𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍.
𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎,
𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐,
𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢.
𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚢, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎,
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜,
𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠, 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎,
𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗.
@freewritehouse community. Thanks to the #blockchainpoets community for allowing me to post here. If you’d like to join, there’s still time, here’s the link:
Dedicated to all those poets who contribute,
** day by day,**
to make our planet a better world.
