NATURE

WINGED WORDS

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The play of tiny tender words,

like elfin songs in cuckoo’s breast,

like murmurs of dry autumn leaves,

soared high on wispy purple wings,

touched morning mist on yonder hills,

Image

dropped ochre-pink on charcoal sky,

all spent and weary to the core,

slept in silent caves of silhouettes,

dreaming of tomorrow’s dawn!

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