The Coming Spring

 

Like giant hands


Reaching for the clouds,


Barren trees emerge from the land,


As skeleton branches twist within.


Such skinny fingers lacking flesh


Hungry with skin so thin and stretched.

 

Yet like this they stand,


Swaying to the music of the wind


They celebrate the coming


Of the early spring,


And day by day


Put on


A glove


So green.


 

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