The world is gifted with
amounts
Of wind and snow and rain
Sometimes they come and stay
awhile
Then disappear again
No sooner do they leave
behind
A path of wetted earth
Than seedlings and dark
dormant buds
Elaborate in girth
Who organizes all of this,
The seasons and the living
things
That know just what to do
It’s almost as if every place
Were gardened by a certain
grace
That it already knew
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