Cold culture and wayward ways
Icing to these dreary days
Glad am I upon their melt
To have spring’s fragrance, smelt

Nascent upon a lily
Dew drops being silly
Still, outside is chilly
A bad party, really

Spring’s soft touch
Erupts over much
Exposing mulch
Disposed a bunch

Last year’s leaves
Dead to trees
Still perceive
Life’s pure weave

Hold on they
To moments gay
As fickle frost
Says they’re lost

Not lost are they
Who then decay
To pave the way
Towards some day

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