Funny, how an idea can root,
when you are told that it will die
before it ever reaches light.
How, after decades spent believing
it was buried, the wind finds it
suddenly tapping at your window
like some long forgotten childhood friend:
sneaking in when the sun withdraws,
and casting hope on your darkened room.
Time, then, I guess, to bring it inside,
to feed it cocoa, and let it play.
Then build a fort against our fears,
so it can flower, instead, in the nights.
And then waken in the mornings
full of tiny, yet powerful, seeds.
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