The Birth of a Season

Vernal Equinox

The birds know

long before the advent of light.

Recumbent, you hear the mockingbird -

his entire repertoire of song -

the raven's guttural prruk

as he fluffs himself in preparation for flight.

Something stirs the vernal within,

and you rise, thinking to walk

in the first equinoctial light.

At the corner, your arms are drawn

to the neighbor's fence,

your mind to ponder his garden:

How dawn excites the rose.

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