A string of words

like silken threads

flow with grace

and elegance


And pour on paper

through the lips

reddened by wine

from luscious grapes


Fresh and without

deceit or pretense

not  much misted

but yet influenced


By my -our – world

and all its children

by vivid emotions

and life’s dividends

Oh birds from bards,

like prayers divine

that may not but

may somehow rhyme,


Flap, fly and chime

at all odd hours

for birds and hills

and trees and flowers


And everything

that they, you, I

can behold with

beauty in our eye


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