I look at someone older than me
And tell myself I am not there yet
He shuffles along before me with
The air of a tortoise enjoying a walk
I imitate his slow gait and stumble
My feet are used to a different pace
And protest this momentum drop
Green shoots on the bare branches
Have quietly appeared from nowhere
The torn old leaves have not all fallen
It is like grandparents and grandchildren
Seen together, the leaving and the arriving
Spring comes to every tree and plant
Without any prompting, sans supplication
My winter is beautiful because it is spring.
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