Somehow the turning of the season
Made real not by the first glimmer
Of sun stretching through the gloom
I listened to an album I have heard
Maybe a thousand times in the past
The revelation of information encoded
Almost overwhelming the senses
Evidence not only each time you play
This piece of music you hear something else
And that every time is an invisible experience
Unrepeatable in its innocent imperfections
The half harvest of a brave new world
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MarPoWriMo 1
