it's another march day,
and yet
it's almost may,
well into spring, on the doorstep
of summer.
we tie on our boots,
find a sweater,
a long coat,
we button to the top
and head out into a grey
wind
full of rain,
full of what feels like sorrow
and despair.
is it our imagination
can this be now and forever
more,
has the world, once
sweet and ripe,
gone sour?
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