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The earth has broken open,
The cold
Splintered by sun
And southern wind,
The snow wet and quiet.
I remember the scent
Of freshly turned earth,
The gentle fingers of
Soft spring rain.
We were young
Together,
Throwing our jackets
Into snowbanks,
Coaxing the rivulets
Of melted snow,
Downhill,
Faces splattered
With cold mud.
To be in a place
And time again
Where leisure
Asks for
Meandering
Makes me smile.

Categories: Poetry