|Dawn over the roof next door.|
Now the green blade riseth from the buried grain,
wheat that in darkness many days has lain;
|Northeast dawn over the city.|
Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.
John Crum, Oxford Book of Carols, 1928
|The ferns next door, coming up. Fiddleheads.|
As we love to repeat all day, "He is risen! - He is risen indeed!"