I am not sure how to take this,
Noticing the green of the grass,
And the warmth of the day,
If I block out the bare branches,
Here and there,
I can fool myself into believing
That spring is here once again.
It almost smells right,
The only thing wrong is
A subtle undertone of decay.
And yet I wonder,
Who do I thank for this gift,
Of an almost spring day
In the middle of fall?
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