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Hope Planted in the Soil of Grief

Children’s laughter

echoes Spring into

the window of my wintered heart.

Never quite thawed, never

shaking myself of the death that keeps my hands

cold.

I cannot bring to life that which I long for

I resurrect dreams until they are nightmares

and hold tight, until Edgar Allen Poe is not quite

so frightening.

Yet, I cannot spring to life that which I long for

Not quite a year since you were planted in

soil that would bear no fruit.

Yet I refuse a baron field

Death is filled with stubborn seeds of potential

I tend the garden of my grief

until Winter loosens its grip and I reap a good harvest of hope

that will warm my soul.

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