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Bedded by sickness, my every thought
Is on my body’s blowsy weakness,
My skin abuzz, gone dry and taut,
My limbs aching in fever’s bleakness.
All
hot-cold March has passed me by
As
in my sheets I lie unshriven,The Lenten lilies clack and sigh,
And last year’s leaves, wind-dug, are driven.
Will
April’s flush of sun-gleam growth,
Spangled
with birdsong’s chatter-clatter,Fresh me to fling off fever’s sloth
And dance with Spring’s renewing matter?
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©
March 2015