In the Sunroom

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I hear them outside, and this I know

The windows show a light-grey glow.

The yard was drizzle-dusted in a dancing, daylight daze,

Yet the sun’s rays poked through the rainy day’s haze.

The robins ranted and babbled by the crabapples,

While they foraged amongst the twigs and gravel.

I hear them now, while I stand in the sun room-

And I know that in time, all will come to bloom.

The wind whips and whisks the wisps,

Casting out cloudy skies

and spreading a crisp, brisk mist,

This too I know is true,

When I stand in the sunroom.