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In early evening
Sitting on the green chair
With birdsong all around
I noticed that the stick horse had gone.
I guess that he exists only in late fall
When trees and bushes undress
In preparation for winter
And tentative sprinkles of snowflakes
Try to cover the sparseness of bare limbs
with a white warmth
But now green is everywhere
An abundance of springtime
And the cycle reports itself
Again and again.