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failing now
the chilly grip
of cold
the winter fingers
are warmed to life
by memories of spring
a blushing pink
is refuge for the worn
while orchards wait
the hum of honeybees
nature wills
the letting go
with promises of time
as black
the berry wakes
beside the thorn

. . .

Author’s Note: The telling of Spring is everywhere this week. Just yesterday I pulled to the roadside and counted 24 deer in the field near my house. Sunlight sits in pools where ice has only recently melted, as babies remember the way back to places they’ve never been. *sigh*

. . .