Hope
They yellowed early
This year and I fear
Her white fleece will bury
Thoughts far and near.
I don't know
If I can find a cure
What can stop a north-wind blow
Or thought I cannot hear?
I do expect majestic green
Sometime in the Spring
But what will be done
Makes me want to run
Far, far away
Under a different sun
Where I can say
All isn't always gray.
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