Gentle movements of March

The tenderness it aches me so

reaching deep within the tether

bracing for the torment

of the inner heavy weather,

where the mind will sit in fog

and the soul awaits for heaven

all things will come to pass here

for its fill as bread to leaven,

so gently the feet will wander

over trails and paths of life

each creak a moment of recall

each clink the shackle of strife.

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