Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Metonymy/ Synecdoche

She is born in March. Gradually growing, she blossoms into marvelous fragrances, and astonishing colors that only appear in our rest. Then, the time occurs when her children roam and fly the surface. Now, she reaches her peak. She provides us with unimaginable scenery, and spectacular opportunities to explore. You explore. You discover. But, suddenly, when you least expect it, something goes wrong. Her children crawl away. They beg for more time, but are denied. However, they are not dead. Mother is dying. Perhaps this is the worst part; seeing her creations suffer. Then it happens. All the wonderful things you once new, are gone. Or so you think.

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