Cheery mornings
delayed eves
Shadows prancing
sunlight teasing
Grass in the meadows
only green
Each tree dressed
in fresh leaves
How easy it is
to yet again forget
It's only a borrowed/ makeshift/ make-believe
spring
Memories of shiver
and unshakable chill
Slowed towns,
snowed hills
Waiting to be thawed
by yet another (spring)
Borrowed from the
burrows of summer
Fleeting is what's missed
when that's the only true meaning
of being
anything but become, permanent
Deceit is perhaps
in the nature of being/ seeing
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