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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #792944
The mean Season
My heart froze in the last thaw of spring
Frost left the earth
And found succor
In the vaulted chambers therein.

The first snow settled
In drifts as high
As the summer’s noonday sun.

Cicadas and katydids
Chirped in the tall June grass.
Children sweated,
Orange Popsicle tongues
Clenched between concentrating teeth.

Inside, a chill polar wind echoed,
Lost in the deep blue gloom.
Inside, the sun never rose
More than an inch above the horizon.

Inside, I greived a loss
Stark in the long winter shadows.
Lit by the suns of two solstices.

August waned, days shortened
And the drifts shrunk.
Leaves turned, and my heart bloomed anew.

I lost nothing, but my pain.
And as the trees grew bare
And the soil hardened
My heart found its first
And finest rose of spring.
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