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April in New Jersey Spring flies in the gray face of Winter ruffling with warm breezes the belly of brown meadows and tickling treetops awake. She is an able temptress, cajoling even coldest rock with warm, moist kisses. Finally, aroused and weary, the old man lies down in surrender, and she, ending her frenzied dance joins him, embracing those brittle bones in her ritual of renewal. In my garden, I rake away the remains, glorying in greens, reveling in reds, and celebrating on my knees the triumph of a single, purple hyacinth. |
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