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Winter's Abeyance

Can springtime wait?
Cycle near completion, I'll stay around,
not quite a whisper, bit of a wintry sound.
Through the chill of the morning,
the threatening sky, I still stand stalwart,
choosing a propitious ending,
the best time to depart.

No bulbs are sprouting, creasing the ground,
no leaves on deciduous shrubbery,
a few promising buds discerned
on one streetside leafless faux pear tree.

In the background the mighty elms and maples,
filaments of limbs withstood the snow,
the roots held their substance hidden below.

Sturdy trunks touched gently feel warmer,
but blossoming's delayed,
I have the upper hand now,
held in abeyance, my ultimate fate.

First yellow forsythia will surprise me,
then turn into green, in succession,
fresh growth will abound...

Seedlings to fruition, I will decide,
no idlyllic forever in eternity's heart.

Author: Roy Schoenberg - Bay Shore, New York, USA

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