I beg the last
of this year’s snow,
to view the blossoms
why don't you go?
My heart is hardened
by your frosty air,
a cold hard slap
of contemptible despair.
You leave your mark
as a sign of disgrace,
so I turn my back
stand against your face.
So my frozen dreams
and heart undone,
can burn again
under the Summer Sun.
J.A. Scott
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