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By M.E. Hope
It is snowing here
though the lilacs have crimson leaf buds
erect against the gray morning.
In the lone evergreen
along the stream
a cardinal has chosen to startle
the sepia background
and he moves like an exclamation mark
against the horizon;
his color blinding the dull clouds.
Burgundy shoots, like diminutive tongues,
poke through the warming beds:
the soil unfastened as winter dissolves.
Between gray and brown
where the down meets the trees
paused for spring
a flash greets the eye
the pewter water reflecting white.
A solitary crocus lost
among the lawn's blonde spikes
paints one lone violet stroke.
And the lilac bush, so skeletal,
holds its buds gingerly toward the light.
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Document last modified on: 11/06/2004