Database Poetry

Random poem - spring

there's always an itch I can't scratch
April is the cruelest month...
Spring is here, I fear.
too familiar for awe: just the creeping, ecstatic unbundling of red maple.
Poor Robin - never enough worms to go around
it's spring, and my hoe breaks steady rows
stained with green
waking to the cool, crisp air
Stuck inside drumming on the keyboard
Which blossom at your feet.
Dashing, dashing through the house, windows finally thrown open, fresh air pouring in.
got caught in the rain again
april is the cruelest month
the rain smells as clean as the newly grown grass

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