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


Clouds were gathering for trouble,
Curled with grey
As I walked across the park today,
The scent of the grass,
Freshly mown,
Sugared the air
And lifted a playful bird,
Softly, sweetly,
Gently buffeting
On its way.
Behind the wall,
A hedge -
Tall and thick,
Bowls, nudged
The long jack - click,
To well mannered uproar,
In an afternoon,
Lacking perfection.
Until my yearnings
Are silenced
By the breeze,
A bidding from the trees,
Whispering their pledge
To quieten me,
That I should listen,
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