Warming, Warning, Calling

Born of brackish murk.

Silent, but surrounding

Me? Beasts, slither. Lurk.

Old Sun, On High, beamed.

Warming, warning, calling

Me? Old Friend, it seemed.

Before Long, I rose,

Did The Light win The Day’s

Freedom? As I chose.

Three Days… rising, thus.

Bloom these Hours. This! Our

Freedom? I, Lotus.

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