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Sunday Morning

The tulips sprang too soon, it seemed.
an April blizzard buried them beneath
eight inches of white.

But yesterday’s wind banished
the need for coverings,
and the earth has dissolved hers,
baring once again
the brown grass
before the penetrating gaze
of the morning sun.

A nd the tulips,
seated in earthy pews,
extend their pointed limbs in ecstasy,
in praise of Him
who sends Spring.