Hues of Spring Forgiveness
Scarcely had the snow melted
when the violet crocuses bloomed.
I gaze at your crimson scarf—
the one you left behind a year ago
as you vanished into the amethyst dusk.
Once again, I have watched through a hematite night;
a burgundy dawn slowly fades away,
and still, I wait for your iridescent return.
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