Thank you, Anni. Maybe I'm a masochist because I do like making things difficult for myself. I considered rhyming each line as well, but that was a bridge too far. Perhaps next time...
Spring and a weary sun
climbs reluctant from the morning mist,
the faded grass, flattened by the memory
of snow, stretches to the tangled bushes,
still stripped and stark, unready
for the task of reawakening.
Spring and another year
struggles upward through the ashes.
Line count: 8
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 03.23.22
Prompt: Weary.
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