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Seasons Turning

The wind turns rustling the reddish-brown leaves. 
Trees stand devoid of their cover and howl
Like bathers caught without a green towel.
The wind turns, the arctic soul misconceives.
The snows pile up around my silver car.
Outraged the trees thrash and howl in the wind
Smarting like young children regimented.
The snows pile up; the heart is as stones are.
The iris bloom, couples old, young elope.
Buds develop forth from bare twigs and grow,
A bald man farming a new luscious mo.
The iris bloom, the heart feels raptured hope.
The grass browns the dams are slowly emptied.
Branches hang drooping in the severe sun,
Young mothers at their hot sinks deflated.
The grass browns the heart resigns abandoned.
You seduce others, caress them and give
Love, mine remains fervent and I forgive.

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