Every year

So many feelings

Are spring-cleaned out

Of the house.

At least they get

To leave.


The joy takes

Forever to spring out

Of a heart that beats

In sync with

The melancholy,

But when it does,

There’s nothing

Quite like it.


She might have been

Limping through her life,

But she still believes

That some day

She shall walk

With a spring in her step.


“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
Margaret Atwood, Bluebeard’s Egg

Featured image from Pexels

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