A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Light upon the whispering crest
Of the wind's balmy tide,
Distant hillsides tiptoe near.
A cowbell rings, sky lark sings,
A lamb's new pleading cry we hear.
Each vibrant beat of insect's wing
Lends a sleepy laziness
To the heat warped haze,
Underscores its shimmering.
Unique in all and seamless time,
Played by chance or by design?
Nature's summer symphony.

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