Water is the perfect resource:
Malleable, unladen when pure,
Ready to heat up into the air
And willing to wait in solid
Until it's time to flow again.

Spring brings that final stage
But skips from rivers to mud
It's the season of down and up
And down and sideways
Whose coat is filled with unshowered ticks.

There's no more hesitation
Hydrology loves the sun
Each cloud will become vegetation
As the ponds bring back their scum.

High design is lower brown
When green returns and flowers rise
To health to life to death far off
This season sputters, stutters, coughs.

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