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The dogwoods will not bloom this year,
We feel it in trunks and limbs,
No pink crosses to calm our fear,
White X’s for our O’s. Packed endurance of snow too long,
Twigs and logs needed for fire;
Spring dragged in bereft of song,
Fruit and flower in vain desire. They won’t bloom after such a freeze
And the orchards will follow suit,
No pink cheeks for our apple trees,
White U’s for our I’s.