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The Birth of a Season

Vernal Equinox

The birds know

long before the advent of light.

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Recumbent, you hear the mockingbird -

his entire repertoire of song -

the raven's guttural prruk

as he fluffs himself in preparation for flight.

Something stirs the vernal within,

and you rise, thinking to walk

in the first equinoctial light.

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At the corner, your arms are drawn

to the neighbor's fence,

your mind to ponder his garden:

How dawn excites the rose.

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