In captive terra firma blind,
Blossoming hopes not divined
Maker's implanted design,
Awaiting the elements to mine
To dark, seamless crevice assigned,
With burrowing predator aligned
No airy expanse in which to unwind,
To ventilated pocket resigned
No preening hand to mind;
In brackish granules twined
No spade, hoe utility to grind,
In earth's, dark womb enshrined
Nor sun's rays green pigments bind;
Incubating warmth in silted brine
Only providential, succoring lifeline,
Until new seedling bursts its rind
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