I left my woes to freeze

In the winds of Winter,

To later be thawed by the sun of Spring.

But a shard of ice played the part of a splinter,

That festered, and made me rethink everything.

Such as, perhaps the songs which Summer sings

Are for nothing more than to dull the hurt

Dealt to humanity for our lack of wings,

And our destiny to dwell, and die, in the dirt.

But as Fall approaches, it’s accompanied by thunder.

Not those crude blasts that cause a jolt of fear,

But instead, those which tremor with tremendous poetic wonder

As to what I may be lucky enough to learn next year.

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