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Jump for joy! The spring is here. Winter died.
They burnt her effigy with flaming straw,
and I laughed inside the plaza then cried.
If only I could see the things she saw:
A lot goes down under lock and steel key
when winter shrouds the world from our clutches.
Colors are muted in pale reverie,
all outside steps are heard since ice crunches:
No harvest, no heather, no hope, no haps,
No heroes, just hoarfrost – we must stay warm –
No haltertops, it all just stops and craps
out. If we could we would demand reform:
Winter is dead and with it its secrets;
spring is hot – every opening secretes.

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