Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Sweet Spring

The winter weaves a blanket, soft and white,
To cover scenes of death left by the fall.

Above that cloak, the chill winds blow all night;
Beneath, it seems that nothing stirs at all.

But, with warm hands, spring tugs back on the shroud,
And signals end is near for that long night.

The woods and fields burst forth with voices loud,
Rejoicing at the coming summer light.

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