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The embers red, for those who choose,
glow brightly on the waking grate.
Sky still half-dark, hints rosy hues,
though to early birds, it's seeming late.

It's easy to recall when days,
by season change are pushed ahead,
arrived early for our usual ways,
sun, impatient, burst forth, fiery red.

Now silhouettes of frost-killed flowers,
dry stubbles in the flower bed.
When darkness offered more sleep hours,
time for school, or business instead.

Leaves rustling crisply in the breeze,
desert the branch, toss on the ground.
Brightening morning peeks between the trees.
Saplings, green, spurn foliage curled and brown.

Hopes lift for those whose sleep is dear,
the blanket a comfort in this clime.
Morning hour gained this time of year,
turn back our clocks to standard time.

06/25/2015 Carol Welch
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