by: A. Lorenzo
Leaves, where have you come from?
I thought last you fell away in winter's edge
There you lay--on the ground. Disheveled.
Alas, you rose again.
Back to life, oh little leave.
You sprout in midday, you shout in glory!
Life, you proclaim, in its majesty.
Where is your sting, oh death?
Life and Glory has conquerd.
The Glory of Christ. Manifested in Nature.
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