From my great-grandmother Alice B. Johnson (as published in “Where Children Live” (1958))… for a morning where I was woken by the icy resistance and give way scrape, boot crunching ritual of car cleaning before work…
Winter Sun
The winter sun is bright,
Though winds blow loud and shrill,
And plants grow tall and green
Upon the window sill.
It is as if their leaves,
Forgetting winter’s chill,
Lean toward the warmth of the sun,
Remembering summer still.
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