Life goes on, and how do we choose?
We are either entitled or condemned
to a following day, the next chapter--
from wind and blowing snow
to the happy sounds of finches,
who know it’s a better season;
though for us, not so simple,
we who cannot let mere climate
set the tempo of our steps,
who must worry about what we do,
and measure the accounts
of what has been and may be,
though plain sense will tell us
that some days exist only
so that we can smell the spring.
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