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My attempt at Poppy's Prompt:
The damp mould of winter
Begins to disperse-
The cruel hail,
Of darker days -
Giving way to hope of,
Brighter hues.
The vanilla threads of spiderwebs-
Glisten under the hands of morning dew.
The compass of the evening sun.
Finding itself,
Navigating once again.
The burnished heads of daffodils β
Nod gently in approval of,
A spring revival.
And the dormouse begins to stir-
Emboldened by the promise of
Tomorrow.
23
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