Change
By Charlotte Zolotow
The summer
still hangs
heavy and sweet
with sunlight
as it did last year.
The autumn
still comes
showering gold and crimson
as it did last year.
The winter
still stings
clean and cold and white
as it did last year.
The spring
still comes
like a whisper in the dark night.
It is only I
who have changed.
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