Lisa, when the summer set,
Wore no leaves of curled regret;
When the autumn color fled
Lisa did not bow her head;
When the winter showed its palm
And patted snow and ice on ground,
Lisa grew intensely calm,
Stood up real, as one unbound,
Garthered strength from cold and blast,
Glowing free from past gone past.
Walking easy, gently fierce,
Tender yet from summer’s pierce,
Lisa bids harsh March down swing
That she may laugh, and frown, and sing.
April waits the dandelion,
Careful arrows sharp and flying!

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