Tuesday 8 April 2014

Morning

Bright light, the sky is blue.
Warm skin, cheeks a dusky hue.

A gentle wind, a flurry of air.
Wisps of hair cavort without care.

The song sparrow calls out his note.
Onto this moment, the senses yearn to hold.

A smile begins, it starts to grow.
Dimples dug in deep, a guise no longer stone.




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