The cry of the stork echoes
from the cold cliff where the mist
is clearing for an hour or two
this winter morning
...
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the eye sees all and leaves the poet with the truth of absolute sight and indeed that shape in light could twist the heart into beauty even without intent a fine poem
Poets find beauty among all things. Lovely, Michael. Raynette
I could see this glimmering in the water Michael.....very lovely poem. Sincerely, Mary