​This winter,
no longer a season,
but like the Bard’s,
one of discontent.
The Seer presages,
“Not the change you meant.”
You profit where
your time is spent
control your own destiny,
the hand of fate.
The months you spent
on sowing intolerance and hate.
Now another bursting
of figurative bubbles.
The Wayward Sisters’
Toil and Trouble.

M. Zane McClellan

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