The rooster crows early morning,
But waltz in the afternoon, spreading,
One wing to the submissive not clucking hen,
The hungry crows arrive with kith and kin,
...
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It's the common syndrome of poetic nature. Perhaps, the sense of loneliness is the breeding womb of creation. Nice post.
Like it, sometimes hearing all the noises of the wild when your inside relaxing can be a comfort. A great poem.
Hearing that beauty in your own home is truly incredible, your poems are far from lonely. Keep up the writing. Thank you
It never ceases to amaze me how even when we are surrounded by people or the natural activities nature delight us with it makes us feel even more lonesome.... beautiful, touching piece tyvm