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Found this.

On the morning after the clocks turned back.

An aging urn holds springtime pansies.

Imagine, they’ve lasted this long.

April to November.

And, still, they hang on.

Glistening,

Frost-tipped petals

in the November morning sun.

Delicate beauty nestled in

rusting hardiness.

Two forms of strength,

Enduring and resilient.

Side by side.

On a November morning.

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