on spring. a poem.

Amy K. Sorrells

i love it when the rain falls

hard on the clods of dirt left all over the yard

the day before

melting them into the ankle high grass

thick with the thrill of spring

and all the hacks of my shovel

and all the sore in my hamstrings

and all the cuts on my arms

feel worth it

because of the rain

smoothing it all into place

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