In the loam we sleep,
In the cool moist loam,
To the lull of years that pa**
And the break of stars,
From the loam, then,
The soft warm loam,
We rise:
To shape of rose leaf,
Of face and shoulder.
We stand, then,
To a whiff of life,
Lifted to the silver of the sun
Over and out of the loam
A day.