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Thursday, August 4, 2016

The Backyard

this is a form new to me, called a

Byr a Thoddaid

I sit calmly on a June day,
eyeing the hummingbird highway,
speed freak avians zip and dive,
competing for sweets, alive with color.

They feed or die, small-hearted birds.
I sense their grace, try to find words
which would perfectly fit, aptly describe
the thoughts inside their heads.

Of course, I fail, my dear reader,
awed by the crowd at the feeder,
displaying their brilliance,
they dance in the sky that is theirs alone.

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