It is cold this morning,
I think I am tired of winter.
I look for subtle clues
of the coming spring
in the desolate snow
that fills my yard
and weighs down my garden.
It may be a fool's errand,
but I search the trees' buds
for signs anyway,
while juncos, who will obey
the seasons' changes,
feed on the seeds
I put out this winter morning.
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