ST. PATRICK'S DAY LAMENT
There is the promise of spring,
But winter has not yet released
Its cold hand from the land.
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The daffodils were fooled.
They lifted their yellow heads,
Thinking spring was here.
They were wrong.
Now snow shrouds them
As it shrouds the land.
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But it is winter's last cold grasp upon the land.
As St. Patrick drove the snakes
From the Emerald Isle,
So spring will soon drive winter
From the shrouded land
And release us from its
Last, cold, dying hand.
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