My little bird of spring
You somehow survived the winter
After refusing to leave
During the fall
You found a warmth
That melts the snow
And an embrace
That won’t let go
And thus declared
That warmer climes
Were not your call
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This entry was posted on 11/07/2022 at 2:53 pm and is filed under Writing with tags geosolus, Mirrors And Black Magic, Poetry, XIII, Zhi Jing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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