The ocean of filth
Now surrounding, engulfing earth’s shore
Lies clinging, smothering like a belt of oil
Yet now I discern
A sweet, melodious note,
As the first birds of morn
And the gentle breath of new life
Heralding another day.
.
Dearest do not fret
For what seems lost, broken
To our eyes, before us and behind,
Is fecund humus hiding its issue
Of good news bursting through warning;
Certainty, peace, balm for the heart
And we the gardeners, expectant of green
That will colour the dark mud of winter’s death
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