Urns of heather*
Too many years in absence of refrain
In which the song of loveliness was born
That time of year has come around again
For two and change, with revelry adorned
That revel ranging bounds of field forlorn
The landscape of the mystery becoming ever dearer
The poignancy and piquancy becoming ever clearer
Though hills and dales and streams that stretch across the country sigh
Allowing me to sketch its scope through only the third eye
Not until the focus flows through windswept plains together
Will I discern the details of the petaled urns of heather
To paint a picture full and clear, no whisper left unheard
Each leaf and drop of dew and wave of grass that is bestirred
Breathless, I await that day of rising sun so bright
In which my eyes are filled with all the wonder of the sight
Completing view at last, assuring all is painted right
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