Worlds of imagination by Sara B. Gauldin
Tender shoots form
in soil that is still
half frozen, but the
warm spring sunshine
beacons through the air
that is still crisp
from winters freeze.
The tendrils reach
upwards to a refreshing
spring time breeze,
causing them to
vaguely wave to birds
on their north bound
journey. Their innocent
thoughts are directed only
towards the solar God
they worship, there is no
way they could foresee
the visit of the moon
who watches the
toxic frost fall.
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