A February morning
Six a/m/ still dark
But a city glow over the apartments
And a heavy mist, damp
Two birds sing
From the tall pine outside my window
And the snow slowly tells the story of the coming of Spring,
dripping from four stories up.
The air is cold on my weary face
It opens my eyes
And clears my heart
And makes it beat faster for the wait of
Dawn.
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