If I were a seed, asleep in the soil,
Which sense would awaken the life in my soul?

Each evening cycle of cooling condensation,
Each morning welcoming warming dew,
Which feeling would cause me to say to myself
“it is time to stretch, to yawn, and open
the gifts of life I received from my mother?”

My seed skin feeling warmth and wetness
of living minerals blanketing me
Offering me an underground breakfast
Also offered to early birds and worns.

Lifting the blankets, insects and wind
introduce me to the cool light of the moon.
The waxing and waning would clue me in
to the shifting gravity of time.

I wait and dream of many lives under light and heat from a nearby star. Then one day, feeling ready to enter my own world of daily changes,
I lift my sprouting wings to the blue sky and the orange purple pink sunsets, and marvel at the ocean of stars.

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