Spring
Golden grass dried to brown
Pine trees without cones
Lost to squirrels and
Fierce gales that
Tear branches and
Steal warmth from my soul
Now, blithely
Gold and purple traverse the fields
And tickle my toes
Golden grass dried to brown
Pine trees without cones
Lost to squirrels and
Fierce gales that
Tear branches and
Steal warmth from my soul
Now, blithely
Gold and purple traverse the fields
And tickle my toes
Carol Phillips
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