It's freezing outside, so I spent the evening cocooned in my apartment, fantasizing about spring. Somehow stream of consciousness led me to thoughts of spring cleaning and trash piles heaped along the curb. The result of my musing is this poem:
On the first of spring
A cast-off scrap of obsolescence
Hapless victim of domestic zeal
Is salvaged from the curbside
Gingerly returned to relevance
By the veteran hands of an antique soul.
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