A spring themed poem, hopefully reflecting what you see outside your window though it is only early April.
***~***~***~***
Waking hill
Dull, brown, grassy hill
Bending lazily upwards
Stretching out beside the road
For many months but a place
Where dogs came to shit
And children perilously
Rode their sleds
Down
But with the piercing spring sunshine
Working on the winter detritus
Of that hill
Begins a transformation
An awakening
Brown tones fading into green
And among those fragile strands
Bulbs sprout forth
With fleshy leaves revealing
Golden, orange crocus
***
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