Morning, Alive
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Morning bursts softly, gleams the ray
Buds exploding…new sun's display
As clouds peep
Wheatgrass rustles across fields, lush
Alive with canticles of a thrush
For yield's heap
And footsteps glide to meet each oak
Dressed by resplendency, its cloak
While hours leap.
Charles Messina's Contest
Triple Stanza Couplet Tail-Rhyme Poetry
6/10/2020
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2020
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