Finally the grass grows long,
The cornices need repair,
The old goat drew her last breath
At the edge of spring,
And too many four-leggeds
Died hard beginning
On some high plains'
Pastures somewhere, then
All the way across
The northern, as
Brutal winter extracted
Its toll.
Here, nurturing
The lessons of the
Last few months,
I've given up
Almost all that isolation fosters,
Though I've been
Cherishing the
Shoots, and
Looking for
Survivors.
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