Early Spring - Poem by James Hartsell
Bitter wind and bright green buds...
too soon...too late?
Who knows the whims of nature? They flow upon a stream
until the suns of unborn spring
stir their slumbering dreams. They rush with eager faith,
bursting forth with petal jewels
beneath earth's golden crown. And there they wait,
interned in frozen tears.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye