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The Vernal Newness

Spring springs up, with His darling rays

Light caresses the ground and out comes the first flowers

Summoned by His call, they only needed one phrase

To build their buds and turn them into towers

They too start their announcements, they are ready for the fauna who have been away for days

All green skin with their flamboyant faces, their newness extends with the showers.


The birds fly and float, singing with vernal glee

Clouds sigh and stroll, air turns into lazy breeze

Rivers break out of their cold confinements, running free

Flowers dreaming of their foreseeable fruitful forms, adorn the trees

All made possible with the blessings of the bee

Bodies soon leave their abodes, enticed by the balmy heat, Summer's tease.


Spring leaps out, like a verdant child

Florid in nature, an expectation from one forever in bloom

Moulding melodies that mark the skies, painting pelages of creatures that walk the wild

Not knowing He was born in a brumal tomb

With ears and eyes that have only perceived conditions mellow and mild

With feet and fingers that have never fully appreciated the frigid womb.


Does His death and rebirth happen in a blink of an eye?

Or does He sleep after passing duties to the next head?

A primeval being has no care for a how and a why,

On whether He's found dead or in a bed

But here's an answer, a quick reply:

He does all and none of what has been said.

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