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Close to where I sit
A lily bulb
Stirs beneath the earth

She has been aching
For her Lord
For a long dark time

And now what draws her,
Her destiny’s intoxicating pull,
Grows strong.

What the moon whispered to her,
What the moon brought from the stars,
Is distilled into this invisible stir

This stretch of impossible tenderness
Through the slow certainty of the earth
Toward the rush of the light

That white gold
That spills from the neck of His jar
Generous Lord of Life.

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bluelightofdawn

Joined March 2008

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

short poem evoking the impossible pain and joy of spring

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