After the long, dolorous winter morass
with days dark, dreary, deplorable
--a glimpse of spring--
awakens passions long dormant,
tempts the muse to foolishly believe
that boreal hearts will thaw quickly.
Yet guillotine smiles
are gilded with false promise,
and the the pantomime plays out
predictably--
bacchanal whispers demand decency
in lieu of debauchery.
Perhaps such moments flatter to skew,
brokering escape instead of truth;
this hoppy haze merely a salve
for reality's stark, obfuscating shroud.
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