the young hold on
to their years, a spring
of exploding gardens, riveting
bird songs that serenade
fresh leaves, and buds
all tight and ready to
unleash their charms
the old too hold on
to their years with equal
fevour if not more, an
autumn of memories
green, yellow, scarlet and
brown, luscious, folded,
wrinkled, crimpled
all scattered in a once
exploding garden of spring
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