with the raw rubber cut away
to form skeletons of beeches
against the slender sunset
the first print of the season
the first page to bear your stamp
how cruel to carve the shadow away
and leave the light so bare
You with your steady chisel
chip blank horizons into being
and shave the winter into stiff lines
that will fracture at a touch
So here it is at the edge of spring
and you have carved winter again
another ending another beginning
a frozen world waiting
for your careful brush
to bring it back to color
enough of grief my dear, my love
let the world bloom again
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