An early spring, deserved.
Families crowd under, the sun.
Little babies coddled, at breasts.
Purple pacifiers, protrude.
From fattened mouths.
Mothers in their summer, dresses.
Flowing floral parade, softens.
February's passage into, the ides.
But for now, picnic basket.
In the park and we, pretend.
It will never, end.
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