I sit gazing at the bruised branches
Of trees that wall my humble thatch.
Leaves dead and green lament over
The tender mango sprouts, who
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Great, a wordsworthian style.... And u know it was raining last night with thunderstorms and today's morn is cold, quiet and fresh as u versed in ur poem.
The night's rain that washed the leaves into sparkling green and the tiny silver pearls on the blades of leaves and grass proclaiming the golden glory of the morning- all give a fresh, clean and cool start to another day of new promises and challenges! A beautiful poem.... so soothing! A 10 for this sweet write! !