Silence-what a treasure.
There it lies in a nest
a turquoise egg 'neath robin's breast.
The worth of patient life can not be measured.
Curled inside a darkened room
curtains red soften his voice
a house of prayer, and not of noise
O shell, be soon removed.
Breaking free at dawn's first light
no longer bound inside a shell
surpassing sweetness none can tell.
Such glory makes the Sun contrite.
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