Yes, the loveliest,
a smudge of rouge
lips blotted against
dark boughs. Only
the pear and magnolia
ahead of the cherries'
blush lace, almost
a haze, almost a no-
blossom snow any
storm could send
swirling, so by the
morning the lake
would have a skin
of rose, the trees
bare with just a fuzz
of green shaking

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