Resurrection

Ask any flower or tree–

Even some insects

Could tell you

 

This regreening,

This shedding of skin,

This life from death,

 

Is not a holiday,

Washed away with

The next morning’s rain,

 

But a practice

To be done daily,

By the hour,

 

By the minute

If we must,

And quick,

 

Each time death,

Great or small,

Comes to us

 

And leaves his coat

By the door

For his return

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