A halo goes around.
Its silent steps all over
trample out the darkness.
Under its gaze
creation reaches cremation.
There is no stop.
The march continues.
A life is born.
Released slowly
onto the four feet of survival.
A tongue swoops down
reaching everything in one thick swab.
The umblical cord wears out.
Splits, sprouts and dies into many.
To join the march again.
A life is borne.
The halo goes around.
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