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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #1403182
Springtime nonsense.
Blossom's promise
when rime is crack'd,
of Sun's sweet kiss
that winter lack'd.

Color and song
return'd at last.
Nature's missive,
"Winter is past."

Bees, drift, lazy
thru new flowers.
Earth wakes, slowly,
from her bower.

Then, born anew,
the promise of
Springtime splendor's
eternal love.
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