by Bradley A. Peraino
The wind blows strong this cool grey morn’. Though, the white has faded green. The fog removed its hateful scorn. Now, all is clear and seen.
The fallen leaves are still in place. They’ll begin this land anew. Strewn around by nature’s grace; through death comes life be true.
The saddened pine, once young and weak, has since begun to grow. Every branch from base to peak has survived the heavy snow.
The greenish grass that lay beneath has now begun to perk. It has shed its frozen ivory sheathe and unforgiving murk.
The wildlife, from wing to fin, has ventured from their lairs. Their time has come to re-begin and cast their frigid cares.
For, at the end of winter’s sting the drab is sure to cease. The quiet lands of early spring are adorned with hope and peace.
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