In the Spring

The soft air coming through the
Window reminds me that
Somewhere there are fields and
Flowers, mountains, trees, there are
April snows on Highland peaks, out there
Beyond my city reach - a
Memory touch that pains as I am
Left here to nurture
All that remains of my past.
I must outlast the loss,
Live on minus many  things. How
Soft airs can cut and sting,
How they can hold one
Fast in their fragrant arms, make
One remember the past, the hurt,
Make one yield.
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