Poetry

13.

The newness of things
gone away for a while,
the freshness of spring
when the sun starts to smile.

There is not much that is better
than rolling up the sleeves of my sweater
in the middle of winter.

I walk past the mailbox and grin,
then leap up the large steps to my apartment,
one hop-step for each,
and plan to take a stroll real soon.

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