Children of Spring

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A child of the spring,

just like me,

we grew together.

With each passing year,

1, 2, 3,

I came to know you.

On every birthday

I could see

how we had changed,

and I loved how

we could be

so different, but the same.

The two of us

were free

like leaves in the wind.

 

In summer, you were

second to none.

Your magnificent silhouette

casting shadows, keeping the

scorching sun

from piercing my pale

skin. Rainy days begged

me to run

from the confines of

my prison out into your world.

I finally won

my freedom once the drizzle

slowed and the earth

had become

muddied with the sky’s tears.

               Crisp autumn

            brought us new

    adventures.

               Your lush, living leaves

                   slowly grew

             older, turning red, orange, brown

                       with age. But I still relished

               the clear view

             from your vantage point

            in heaven. I clambered to the top,

                                                   hoping you

                               could wrap me in your

            arms while we watched

             the azure blue

                              sky float by our wondering eyes.

 

As winter’s sharp wind

began to bite

my nose, I ventured

outside every day

so that we might

play together as before.

The days were short and the sun

left our sight

before we had had enough

time to bask in winter’s

rare light.

 But I’d linger long after my

shadow outgrew me and wrap

my arms tight

around your rough skin.

 

Yes just as the seasons came and went,

so too the end came for you.

I watched them tear you limb from limb,

from my window. And through

the tears I remembered what you taught me,

how strong skin can block the pain,

and how death can bring a new beginning.

You must stand tall through the rain,

and the higher you reach, the closer you get to heaven.

I stood by, remembering,

as they carried your shredded boughs off,

that you were a child of spring.

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