by Nick Gisburne
The darkest, deepest ice begins to thaw
Reluctantly surrendering its grip
The dreamer sleeps, her visions raging, raw
But something stirs, a movement of the lip
As though they give allegiance to the sun
Diminutive devices wake to serve
Their work is steady, sensitively done
Correcting skin and sinew, muscle, nerve
Redundant on completion of their task
They do not see the cold cadaver rise
She gazes through a grim, electric mask
Awakened to the promise of the prize
An army of her sisters fills the field
The future of humanity revealed
