Upon a renewed earth Humanity wakes From winter's chilling sleep. 'Mid showers Of cherry blossoms Delicate, And fountains of forsythia, We stretch and yawn, Langorous In the vernal sun. But though our hopes Once more escalate, 'Tis with the realization That they are bounded still By winter's chill And summer's oppressive heat. Where is the love Which soothes like April rain? Where the joy Of jonquils bursting open, To speak splendidly of spring? There is a hand I would hold, A hand Which is the symbol Of the Spring I love. But in my heart Lies a fist, Clenched in selfish anger, Lashing out With blind frustration, Because Spring is Love, And I am emptiness.
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