The last out has been called,
They felt joy, we felt pain.
We retreat to our clubhouse,
As the wind blows in rain.
The rain soon lets up,
and the leaves change their color.
They fall to the ground, as the sky becomes duller.
The snow flurries down,
The cold strikes my heart,
but a Son soon appears, and breaks ice apart.
Warmer winds blow,
brown blades turn to green.
The fresh newborn smell,
brings a familiar scene.
Soon leather will follow,
and dark colored earth,
and sticky strong pine,
and ash, will give birth.
A gift from our creator,
seems a little thing.
In my bones, in my blood;
soon, it will be spring.
-AO
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