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Barefoot on Thin Ice


Spring
The little girl
Found Spring.
Thoughts and remembrances
Of another world .
Birth,
Life,
Fake life
And
The pleasure of leaving.
There was a crocus handy
With violet veins
And an innocent face.
It was pointing to
The low sun
In the western sky
The last drink
Of twilight.
Smiling and
begging
For a good plucking.
Do we pinch it by the neck
Or leave some stem?
She gave it a sniff
And moved on.
 
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