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Poetry Magnum Opus

Feathered blood


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A red kite rests on it's watchtower,
a bare tree as it faces winter's dour
stare. The woods yearn for spring
to restore rapture, branches move
miming to the wind's music.
December rests on winter's branches.
The tawny owl has a ticket to hide, it's
primal call cannot match the wind's
dialect discovering it has not tongue.
The frost is like the woods haunting itself.
trees can only surmise which images are
collected by rain enraptured eyes of birds
sitting on branches. Winter's ghost joins it's
colleagues testing them for answers about
springs arrival and the survival of life here.
Clouds are the ghosts of leaves coursing with
the trees feathered blood. Rain falls like words
of instruction for life in the woods. A crow is an
eye patch for winters last light. Blades of grass
are an audience with a seasonal pass as they
cry for light.  

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