I come back from predawn woods,
It's so cold this spring in Michigan,
And I lay at your feet three rabbits
And a pheasant, all waiting for your hand,
And while you tend to the game
I build a fire for the day. Spring, sure,
But we know more snow will come.
The baby's whining, pawing at your arm.
Grandmother told us the five-hour-story.
We will keep it in our minds as something
So much the heart can barely take it.
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