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P u s h e d
Through the hard earth,
Searching earnestly for the warm sun
The warm winds of Spring
Ran her hands through the tree branches,
Tiny buds beginning to bloom at her touch
Winter seethed in the heavens,
Glaring down as Spring undid
Everything she had worked so hard to complete,
Melting everything she had created.
Not this year.
To the earth,
Fanning out around her,
Leaving a trail of snow and cold
In her wake
The trees buds froze.
The throne of the seasons