Before morning in the air
The welcome is an open palm,
Or a sturdy redwood
Stretched to the open sky.
Many men of iron are dull
To the touch of a warm breeze,
But strength is the bending
Root of the charming tree.
Such beautiful seeds
With flesh in my flesh,
Towering over this seedling
That planted a memory
On the hill by the lake.
The roots are meeting now
In an angel's afterthought,
Soft like the grass
And warm like the sea.
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