at the corner of Mockingbird and Valley,
I saw the dogwood there coated in ice,
feigning warmth of the coming of the Kingdom
and hoped the coming of Spring would suffice

as the children in pink and blue bonnets
were busy building a sandcastle of snow,
I listened to what is really within me
and heard the little I already know,

from the window, the cat there was watching
from the skies, I think, so were the birds,
from the way they looked down but upon me,
I was moved to a speech without words,

all is quiet in the fold of the winter,
as the House has been cleaned and prepared
what was learned in the dead of December
can now with full-force be declared –

so I’ll walk from the corner of Valley,
sounds of laughter – resilience – in tow,
and though the road underneath may be glassy,
where I’m tested will guide where I go.

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