Winter Was a Friend All Too Kindred

If I have sent for Spring by an ill-advised and troubling letter(without a second thought, forgetting Winter was a friend all too kindred)that wanted all the less dreary flowersand warbled cries of little birds filching seeds,and sprouting trees pushing life into the air from air reformulated,and all the fecund amorousness,purging death’s constant sheering remindersthat Winter …

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