Saturday, March 28, 2015

The same chord

I saw the purple first
Crocuses cost winter its end
And spring, newly consummated
The fog on my glasses
The frost on the car windows
Breeze biting into my morning skin
Green buds daring to show their kindness
All of the trees seeming to ache
The same 3-tone chord, sustained
-- Seek, grow, pass it on

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