Life, Poetry, Writing

Winter Baby (incomplete)

I’ve always been glad that I was born in November,

that the bleak landscape of winter was the first one I saw.

At birth I found beauty in the desolate and whimsy in the cold.

Then slowly, gradually, the world changed

and all the frozen edges reformed to gentle crests of green,

layers shed and the world surged around me

vivid and lush

with blossoms as pink as my cheeks

overturned earth like my dark brown eyes.

And everywhere union,

everywhere nature’s infants meeting the sun for the first time.

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