Borne of the Winter

and what a time
to be wrought
from bleak skies, from
forlorn magpies.

The sweet kiss,
gentle ease—
Summer gone,
no promise

of

Spring

buried, forgotten,
begging,

this quiet day
threatens
yet—

life births
beneath tumbled white.

a fateless,
frenzied
foray

leading
to something,

something—

something

with

a little mercy,
a little light,
a little warmth,
to turn frost to seed.

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