SPRING THAT’S KINDER
Still the pines droop after the thrust of wind and snow.
In candy cane bend, their backs whipped into shape.
Mid-March does not relieve the swoon of pinery flow.
No bouncing back from a Winter’s tale without escape.
Vibrant green of moss, uncovered, with no reminder.
Piles of Autumn leaves, forge a blanket of seasonal lies.
Quiescent oaks await...
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