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The wind blows somehow warmer, seems to sing

as though hopeful it can bring fast the breath of spring


The clouds grow somehow thinner, in blue surround

as though by parting the sun would fast warm the ground


The birds sing a song somehow sweeter, into waiting ear

as though a wish to God and nature spring would fast appear


The grass less withered somehow greener, to please the eye

as though its effort to grow green would fast bring sunny sky


The crocus pushes up somehow, through still frozen earth

as though reminder that even frozen world can fast spring mirth.


Karen Quinn 2013


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