What calendar is there beneath the soil
Its days crossed darkly off year after year?
What dreams of sun?
What longing for the other to complete it
Until by some mystery it wakes and struggles upward
Emerging at last, shedding the stiff brown nightshirt
Big eyed and bumbling, dazzled by light and air
New to wings and the freedom of flight
Its stuttering song a proof of life
after so long a silence. -Sally Zakariya
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