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What Was Left In Winter
What was left
in Winter
will not see Spring.
Will not see
it's warm rays
of gold thaw
the frigid earth
revealing life
in bursting fits
of emerald green
and crystal blue.
Will not hear
song return to
fill the air,
carried by
a fresh breeze
that rustles young
branches.
Will not taste
sweet perfumed air,
water crisp
and cool.
Will not feel
amber heat
change the
atmosphere,
the air thick
and sticky.
Will not smell
the musky
aftermath of rain
mixing with
fragrant blooms.
What was left
in Winter,
will not see Spring.
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This piece was inspired by the death of my cat on Christmas last year. It seems a little odd to write about a cat, but he meant a lot to me.