Spring
He soars to the wonder
of wings, and a lilting-trilling
song; a cozy rest, an orange
red breast, mother robin
at roost in a tree, tucked
safely away at a “V” – where
the hawk’s keen eyes wont
see –
further fanning the poet’s
inspiration, leaves aflutter
in the tuneful breeze…
while
the rest of us
simply sneeze….
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