The Sleeping Spring

where sleeps the gone spring
now that young winter’s here
is she in her nest a-dreaming
lost to waking for the year,
and does she dream of buds anew
sprouting from the restful cold
and of each flower that once grew
in bright new times of old,
or do her reveries contain
no memories of the past
but are the shadows to refrain
her final days now cast.


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