Become your thirst, essence of wine. 
You are never one moment old. 
Every opening of your eyelid awakens poppy roots,
underground fountains, promises of Spring. 
Buds on bare twigs, seeds asleep in loam
long to celebrate your beauty. 
They tremble, burst, release perfume, 
mimicking eternity, wanting 
your likeness.
Why don't you whisper to them all:
"It's time!"

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