Now there are only the deposits
The smell of smoke after a fire
The goose-bumped skins,
The chill of spines, like frozen electricity
Must hibernate
The leaves have been drooping
Their lives suspended only
By snake-like roots,
As if they wished to falter
Now they tremble lightly,
Like giggling children
Tickled by the bare breeze
Of the morning
The songs of birds
Renounce to spring
Their choppy chirps
Are nature's orchestra
For the arrival
A single ray of light -
Its sliver like a sword -
Punctures the corner
Of my windowpane,
Taps it gently with its
Edge, as if to say:
"Here it comes"
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