A Sonnet to Seasons Change

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Within the forest, forever she sleeps.
The winter wind has tried to call her back.
No spring, no summer,  a constant sleep deep,
Any certainty of waking, she lacks.
How long has this winter been? Cold wind blows
Over what must soon come to be her grave:
A full moon and the snowy trees below.
This is all that is left from what she gave,
Where’s spring? No living memory holds summer.
“Oh, the ice! Where is the fair face of fall?”
A common lament of those who love her.
Not one, but many. Of them, she is all.
She is the snow, the rain, the heat, the wind.
From the snow sprouts a bud. New life begins.

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