Dull Spring

Dull spring, dull spring, dull spring, 

is it the words in my head that play back to me,

like the trees of full bloom that the bud-tips fade

is it the chill breeze that creep out to play, 

wheres this sense in this spring

that makes it so dull is it the late germintation,

that tells us the spring in our illusions was nothing at all

should we go look for it,

paint water-colors on a canvas to understand that when this season

comes around we yet don't understand,

that this spring we call dull was yet just all in gods plan,

or yet are the human race blind to the fact that the chill breeze, no-color-season,

was because we were color-blind and to see the great beauty you have to look,

because the dull spring doesn't create light, 

we have to precieve it to be the light.

This poem is about: 
Our world

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