Appreciation for A Warm Morning In January

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 Appreciation for A Warm Morning In January


The hillside where my black bench sits
insists on springing to life.

It splashes purple and green
around with abandon.

As if it were new-bride-season,
as if baby bunnies were rising again.

How futile, my protest
wait, but its winter!

Who am I to say,
who am I to say?

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