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Her Undamaged Self
Don Hynes
The coldest snow and ice,
frozen like rock,
carries in its crystalline memory
April warmth and returning life.
The hard rain scours the land
and our upturned faces.
We look down for relief
and there, between the sidewalk cracks
a green shoot appears, piercing our grief
like the concrete mass,
speaking to our despair,
the longing for our Mother
and the complete mystery
of Her undamaged Self.
We’re too weak to celebrate
but the seeds of a new joy are emerging.
Nothing can deter
this most insignificant omen.
Don Hynes