It is still winter for us.
Though the leaves spread and the buds
swell,
Though the soil warms and the birds
build
Nurseries, and the frogs rest from
their spawning.
Our buds are still closed, our branches
bare,
As we wait for the benediction of
release:
The sweet summer, the easy summer,
Gathered on the grass as careless as
the dandelions.
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