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Show RHYME & REASON BE LATE A LITTLE Let spring be late this year; let it delay It's coming, it's singing, surging throb, it's heady Greening under, over. . . just one more day Be late. Tomorrow, maybe I'll be ready. Too much of hurt in me would seek the dark, Would hide a little longer all my tears, Would turn from spring, from song of Meadowlark, To grieve my broken dream, to stay my fears. And yet the new grass covers winter's theft Where searing frost broke continuity, And cleansing sunshine burns out all alloy; Perhaps the spring will heal where I'm bereft, Renew self -faith, repair inadequacy; Oh, spring, wait, just till I can bear your joy. Mabel Jones Gabbott |