My heart is astir with what this morning
I caught aloft under a bluebell sky.
A bird who trills high, yet smaller than small
Is it's frame, and seemed to be making reply
To my spirit which soared as I spied crest
Of gold above darkest large eye. The park
Which graces this valley will never best
The feathered perfection I saw, marking
His tiny terrain with sublime bird-talk.
That Goldcrest at Tuckingmill crowned my walk.
That must have been a fabulous sight Fay...birds do lift your spirits don't they...lovely write as always from your hand...Fi...10+++
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Great use of enjambment in this lyrical feathered feast. Your 'bluebell sky' is particularly enchanting. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥