Paint the springtime
now, when it's new
in all its emerald boasting
when its shoots are tender
and its blossoms in their blush
Paint its tendrils coursing
up each limb and
through its freckled
hollows, the trills and pulses
dancing on its breath
Paint it succulent
and raucous
but no brighter than it is
so you can call it honest
when the winter comes
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