through blankets of white
and the still crisp air,
you hide behind broken trees.
moving too slow to see
yet too quick to find
you're gone before being found.
with a patient agenda
and a generous con
you arrive upon dire straits.
blowing through broken trees,
shutting out still crisp air,
you erase blankets of white.
not then to mislead the weak
nor tear flesh from their hearts
you've vanished from faded minds.
but deep inside we know, and you
just like this temporal spring day wind,
will return.
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