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August England 2020: After the sun.







Cloud
thick white
 magenta light

and distant now
the birds song-sing
a muted echoed song

and weave

a ring dove echo ring

 we love you   we love you
where are you  where are you

their mournful solemn round.

Daylight and darkness
move through a ditch
we hold our breath
and watch

the roses shudder
the pigeon's worried warning
bounces off the ground.

So careless in the sun
those days unravelled
were gently spun

and all the time to languish spent
and all our sunshine fortune gone
trinkets and wings and sweet birdsong
and foolish fun.
    
Now our birds look north, fly east,
perch back on aerial bars and still
gaze out across the land 
and wait

for carefree times

to come



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