Out
The wind grows warm, slowly.
It blows the grays and browns
out of the garden, carries last
fall's leaves off in windy baskets to
wherever such things go. It races snow
clouds out of sight, chases them
with blue Cadillacs of sky. It
nudges the pebbles in the garden,
saying, "Tell the dirt to tell the
tulips--it's time to make a break for it."
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