Hazel

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She stretches long slim limbs

Across the paths

Tipped by fingers wind-stirred fingers.

December-sun blued catkins

Hang from each, casually held:

Suspended sausages

Packed with the energies

Of suspended animation:

Promise of warmth –

Far-distant-now, but

Riding it’s spring-shod

Palfrey towards us.

Slow and sure.

Keep the faith.

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