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Spring is sprung from Death- Poem

A warm, spring, sunny stroll in the park,

the air abuzz with freshly bloomed beauty,

I tread a perfectly manicured trail.


I see a woman ahead of me

Listen- she scoffs. Disgusted.

She kicks something toward the grass.


Pity- a worm, writhing in agony,

covered in ants. Its body screams

in jagged, jolted protest.


A mother Jay mourns above me.

Her baby fell from her nest. It drowns

in the green sea. Ants crawl to it as it gasps.


I think of springtime- its vibrance

nurtured by bones of birds and flesh of worms.

An all-consuming beauty


I continue on the trail, the grass sprung from

the life it took. And I wonder what flowers

will lie on my grave when I’m gone.




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