poetry & things

Morning birds

Strange path, with green overgrown

a place unknown, a wild bird haunting calls

as if to wake, coax the light of dawn

wet my steps, break with day

I wait the sun, to come

lighting slow, a lonesome home

or far off hills of grassy yellow

I hear the smaller birds too

beyond these trees, among the reeds

sing glorious amid morning’s meadow

and I, entranced deep in nature’s glow

can only hope to follow.

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