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Friday, January 25, 2008

Sonnet XXV

The snow’s still there, pristine despite the mud,
But when the next day comes, it snows some more.
It seems the battle's strangely wavering:
Today Spring lost; but won the day before.

A constant bid for power ‘gainst the two,
Sometimes the ground is covered with white snow.
It melts, then all is lost – it snows again.
Who’ll win, it’s hard to tell, no one will know.

And then, abruptly, sunshine warms our skin;
The animals begin their spring routines;
The grass and leaves on the trees turn emerald;
The winter seems a distant memory.

The winter, pallid by compare, seems plain.
As spring, a kindly comrade, comes again.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!