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At The End Of Winter There Are MAG
AT THE END OF WINTER THERE ARE
roads stained only by salt,
not the expected snow.
Early morning chills
the skin between my fingers
and flicks my ears,
asks me why I bothered to wake up.
We trudge through
a long corridor,
laden by
heavy coats and heavy thoughts
to finally reach the edge of Spring
where specks of color begin to show:
Blue and Green
and light.
by Katie L., New City, NY
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