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Spring In Your Step
If eager finch in flocks through hedges sow,
they burn with crimson blaze on country lanes;
yet look like flaxen ropes that twisting, flow.
This could be me when summer sings refrains.
If darkened lakes with troubled waves reflect
a dying forest's fractured tree that shakes,
then time is stretched and taut with tether flecked.
It could be me as late october breaks.
If swallows ghost in autumn's growing shade
and scissor night with scarlet skies that flee;
they welcome darkling eves as stars invade,
where shadows slowly dance, it might be me,
but earth's just-spring then feeds the winter’s fast,
exploding green reveals my core at last.
Copyright ©
Brian Duffield
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