Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Secrets and Seasons
Even a lover of autumn must yield this point:
This mild March morning disposes a world
Of flowers red and pink among the mist,
Bathed fresh with dew in anticipation
Of hours glorious but brief until the sun
Awakes, and shakes his fiery beams to fall
Upon the leafy, grassy, silent scene
Like a sergeant censoring an errant smile
Lest happiness corrupt the young recruits
Who only in secret may love the seasons
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