The winds of change are blowing.
Coming in warm and grace filled.
Allowing the warm sun to cool.
Blowing the seeds of early flowers.
Blowing in my soul a tender desire.
This seed of my own planted, tilled.
The disturbance through me because
I had forgotten that making the row
Stirs the richest of earth to harbor,
In darkness, the tender seed.
Watered, weeded, made richer with bugs.
Oh. What joy to spring anew!
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