Richard Allen Beevor
The Hour And The Moment - Poem by Richard Allen Beevor
The hour and the moment stirred,
aloft on air the winged bird.
False echoes shudder down the vale,
call forth the soulful nightingale.
March to the time of seasons past,
the hour and the moment driven fast.
Where the centre tree had grown,
by the river seeds are thrown.
Buds that bloom under yellow sun,
the hour and the moment just begun.
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