by Mary Lambert
And now the Spring.
A stirring deep under of
A movement in the groin,
Wetness. The smell of seed
and juice, sticky with potential.
Thrusting, fruit abounds within,
led by an epiphany that unfolds
itself in unison with the symphony
of all life.
A golden sun caresses its creation,
pulling, cradling, warming,
working its magnanimous birth to a
crescendo of symphonist splendor.
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