Calendar declares spring,
and the thermometer claims
a warm day, but my eyes see
a dim autumn, bare of green,
a sky of white and gray,
and the birds silent don't
affirm spring's existence -
a single gull doesn't a spring
make circling on the sky,
nor a calendar or the numbers
a thermometer shows, for spring
and autumn are in the light
and the memories the mind
brings, reacting; and mine
are all of autumn.
18.04.2025
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