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Our leaves would have turned red.
Four times already
and four times we would bloom.
Four times dandelion would have fought the wind
and four generations
of chest-nuts manikins could have lived in my purse.
We have seen each side of the sun
more than four times
and drank wine on the church steps
during four indian summers.
Four winter and summer solstice
equinoxes and eggnogs and christmas trees.
All seasons and valentine cards
and all the forgotten 28ths.
Our leaves would have turned purple.
But during this cold January
they bloom again.
Marzipan king and chocolate queen
and all the wake ups and goodnight moons
The lunar eclipses to come
and the springs
I can not wait.