It seems to happen every year, this
returning of the light . . . and yet,
every year I find my faith waning as
spring tarries on its way. This spring,
if I may be so bold as to judge, has
been particularly reluctant to show her
face. But light is lingering in the early
shadows, 'tis a tad warmer and I find
myself hopeful at last.
wish for no more tears
in light of recent sorrows
rest for the wicked
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