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March Wind MAG
Now I stand
in the heavy, tingling air
and watch the pilgrim clouds
ride by toward Canterbury.
Cold flutters past
to warm my cheek;
crocuses defy
the cold, white autocrat.
My heart flutters,
and I watch you -
remember the spring
beneath
those warm, blue eyes;
Then I become a crocus
once more,
tiny and fragile
and full
of another's
strength.
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