January

The kiss of spring,
it is near,
there shall not be,
any winter tears.

Your mistakes you’ve made,
have no flaws,
just like the ice,
as it thaws.

There are new things,
that are at stake,
just like the flowers,
when they rise from their wake.

See those rivers,
flowing still,
memories wounding,
but never kill.

Leaping up,
from the ground,
the leaves are grinding,
but have no sound.

by Paige Thomas

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