Morning Poem, April 7, 2017

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This raw April day is like those at February’s end

Where grey gloom reigns and the wind will not relent.

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Who will curse it and wish for sunlight’s lift

And who will seize and embrace it as very gift?

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Who will walk once more on the paths now vacant

Of summer’s vine and weed and serpent

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And breathe in and feel the sparkling frost

And give no thought at all to what is lost?

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Copyright 2017

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