if Spring were a person
|Spring is Mother Nature's virgin face,|
pink rosebud lips parted in a smile
teeth resembling two strings of pearls.
While eyes of mossy green
reflect the endless depths of her soul,
her auburn hair falls loose down her back
a wild and tangled mess of curls.
Freckles sprinkle across nose and cheeks
on a canvas of otherwise perfect porcelain skin.
Spring's laughter, a tinkling of chimes in a gentle wind
her voice, the pleasant sound of a gurgling stream.
Her dress is a study of impressionist art,
a rainbow explosion of color
She is a newly opened bloom
whose honeyed scent enchants all.
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