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Η Άνοιξη (ee-AH-neek-see: the spring, the opening)

The Greeks have always spoken simple truth,
The opening, the spring, rebirth is now.
New life—the dead turned under by the plow,
Longer days arise as sunlit proof.

But after so much pain, how to return? 
A raw world that we now scarcely know,
How and who are we—and how to grow?
Divided as the tribal hatreds burn. 

We all build borders to defend and hide.
I have my own that fool me and change form.
In truth they don’t stop suffering or storm.
To break them down I must deal with my pride.

These openings are fewer for me now,
The total is a secret kept from me. 
I cannot waste a one, I hear the plea,
I must respond as long as years allow.

Loss as much as joy asks for a vow.

No matter where I go I’ll hear the call,
My heart may try to close inside of me.
Just when I think I’ve lost the wherewithal…

A spring, an opening—Η Άνοιξη.

Scot

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