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One of four siblings,

The youngest of course.

Or am I the oldest not really sure.

I bring new life and herald  the warmth but hayfever,  too is in my source.

Autumn has color but tinged with decay.

Some call her fall I think she's OK.

Not like my brother, 

cold in his breath, 

winter is his name,

In darkness brings death.

Summer is the one that gets all the glory,

But brushfires and sunburn are in her story,

So, season of choice who will win?

The one with potential of course, it's spring.

Martin Taylor

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