Redshift

From the ground she hears

the faintest cry of a pulse

It speaks of a miracle

of an answer she longs to know

She stays on the ground

She hears it once more

Does it tell of an existence

far from the norms

Will it ever reach its destination

Those she wishes to know

She waits for a fraction

feels the warmth of its approach

It is too late, she guesses

For the cry has become cold

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