The gentle rains of Spring
	Come to wash away
	December's somber brown and gray.
	My heart, my life
	Quicken at the tug of the Wind,
	Pulling, teasing my soul,
	Reminding me the world
	Is about to be reborn
	All blue and green and gay.
	Jonquils are pushing
	Through the crust of sleep
	That has imprisoned them so long,
	And soon birds will sing again
	In budding dogwood trees.
	The wind burns my eyes,
	Tearing away the film of wintry despair,
	And lets me see again
	How beautiful the earth can be.
	And as my life is washed clean,
	I see once more
	Love before me,
	Soft and warm, fragile
	And delicate, yet growing stronger
	In the springtime sun.

Probably Spring 1972

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