Spring

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I’m sitting on a hard rock,
It feels cold to the touch.
I listen to the birds sing
Their early morning tune.
The leaves rustle
As they crunch beneath my feet.
The fresh aroma of pine trees
Floats beneath my nose.
I lick my lips,
As I see the busy buzzing bees,
Swarming around a cave in a tree.
I close my eyes,
And I can almost taste
The sweetness of pure honey.
I look down at my sandals
And I see dew dancing between my toes.





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