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Show Gently Into Darkness Page 2 (but where the heart, for no blood escapes the veins?) nor could numbed fingers fit ridge to ridge and accomplish unity again. Attendant to death, I entombed the halves, aware no flowers would come from them in any spring, nor leafage, but eventual communion in their quiet decay rising in what future stem. What now from these - the bulbs, the lost I and my ancestors' graves? Grasses have weathered where long roots circle what were hands that caressed me when blood was warm fluidity between, and the Son had seen new Light arriving. Out of the warming earth spear and blossom shall pronounce their heritage, but how long until a migrant seed, scattered by wind or winging bird, shall waken me in a prescient hour among tulips shining in an April dawn? |