Dawn
At the profoundest moment before dawn, the first voice resounds, both
blunt and sharp like a knife stab. Then rustlings growing from minute to
minute bore through the stump of night.
It seems there is no hope at all.
Whatever is struggling for light is mortally frail.
And when a bloody cross section of a tree appears on the horizon,
surreally big and almost painful, let us not for get to bless the miracle.
Zbigniew Herbert
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