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June 16th 2010    Tim Candler

     Sad to think of a Beetroot's existence unless he is inanimate, without feeling, as most would have him.   But in that plot which sees him escape from boiling water he can spend a winter in the compost pile dreaming of bloom.      

     Damned if I am not tired of this circle of life, I heard him calling to me.  And damned if I will ever let you spend a morning trying to pickle me, I heard him say.   Thank god for the cantankerous and wooden, I found myself replying.  

     So both of us went precisely nowhere.  

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