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Nature Trail

If eager goldfinch, looping and stitching Through Hawthorn by urgent instinct driven, Are a crimson surge; a secretive dash; When summer scorches, it could be me. If a dark lake’s troubled surface reflects The dying sun’s final stony silence... When time seems frozen in eternity. As late November breaks, it could be me. If gathering swallows in late autumn, Scissor the night’s reddened skies seeking home And darkening eves beckon them to rest. When shadows slowly dance, it might be me. But if spring’s cold earth breaks the winter’s fast; Exploding in lush’ll find me at last.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 3/31/2017 11:41:00 AM
I'm fast becoming Duffield, well done Brian...
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Date: 3/16/2017 3:30:00 PM
I just love this sonnet. It reads like music, and if I listen, I can hear the birds.
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Date: 3/22/2017 1:14:00 PM
Thank you for your positive comment-been working on sonnets recently.