My dear Spring,
Oh, how I missed you during those long, winter months.
It seemed as though they would never end.
Then you teased me by coming and going,
and coming and going.
Now it seems you are here to stay.
I felt joy as I pushed my children in the swings on that warm Spring morning...
Until I felt a pesky mosquito sucking the blood out of my head.
I swiped at the mosquito and spent the rest of the morning full of vanity as I wondered if I had others' blood smeared across my forehead.
You caused this, Spring.
Spring, do you know what a tiring task it is to keep from scratching a mosquito itch?
I do not think you do, or you would not inflict this vexation upon us.
You are unsympathetic to this utter misery.
I now sit in the arduous endeavor of not ripping off my forehead.
I leave you with these final words, Spring.
The next time you determine you will send a mosquito my way,
just remember the plum-size ball of absolute itch protruding from my head,
the symbol of your handiwork,
and please find it in your heart to muster up some mercy.
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