There's only one
And then there are three
Then five and going on to ten
Then that tenth is the one thrived upon
Because it was the relative run
And other times because it is the long awaited
But on getting up and around
Tenth grows to thirtieth
Knowing by then there's the mass of hidden imperfection in it
Not imperfection but fact behind the plague
Opportunity to save the other
A simple wave then and a genuine smile
Thirtieth to a hundredth
And to forget the source of the spokes
Now at 999th; but glad to know the centre.
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