Spring is supposed to be a fresh start
after a long, bleak winter.
Supposed to.
Nature is supposed to start anew;
snow melts, blossoms bloom.
Supposed to.
Creatures are supposed to return,
to shed their winter coats.
Supposed to.
Sunshine is to supposed to warm,
our limbs, our hearts.
Supposed to.
As when the leaves turned,
as when the year turned,
we're supposed
to start
anew.
Supposed to.
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