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The white flag

Again the park is battleground for seasons: Winter and Spring will fight it out once more; For Winter has its unguessed, stubborn reasons For being rude when it's been shown the door. Tenacious snow and ice still cling in patches And river winds are militant and bold - But tiny, tireless buds are more than matches For Winter's weary army, numb with cold. And all the children are the Spring's allies: Knowing that Winter's but an old pretender They greet the last snow patch with joyful cries - Consider it a white flag of surrender. Armies of pigeons know the war is won: Their feathers shine like armor in the sun.

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