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Howe Meadow ITQ
Written: January 22, 2024
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I hear the wild cry as I sleep,
no roaming goats or gulls or sheep.
Tire them out, no trace of dread sweep,
seamless grass is combed by reap.
I heard the humpback cry whale site,
before the day turned into night.
Hunt for krill, girls, and young scouts fight,
boys, singing, as one, of raw dight.
Meadowlarks wave wings in the breeze,
hunt flies in the sun, fly with bees.
Breathe fresh air as lowly birds tease,
tweet, and perch on red tussock trees.
Meadow wrens chirp as streams dry out,
fly high to low till storms cross route.
Copyright ©
Sotto Poet
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