Dormant, asleep -
Growing in secret,
Preparing to rise,
Past selves are reborn
when new voices shout,
demanding peace
as only the young can.
Tomorrow belongs to them.
And us?
The gray ones
Weary with wisdom
And life
And loss
And the slow ticking pace
Of our worn and beating hearts?
We step with soft footfalls on this earth,
behind the stomping feet of their warrior dance,
tending the next row
of sleeping seeds.
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