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Spring cleaning my spirit in late winter.
I find myself surrounded by dirty socks and secrets.

Solar powered, I creep out into the day.

I make someone giggle with my tickle fingers.
The baby smiles and gurgles hello.
She grabs my thumb slowing me and turning me up.

I grasp for what to say thinking of his growing debt.
He takes no interest in money or power.
His song is his quest.

Escaping the chill, he sings of verdant meadows and blushing brides.
I stop and listen to his babbling breeze,
And I am better for it.