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It’s daybreak, and the meadow warms to 

the fragrant hum of towering limes,

while sheep cough on seed heads   

and speeding martins trace

patterns of light around 

their race track beneath the oaks.

 

And high above the drowsy vale,

by glowing rocks, where bracken toasts   

and clouds tack back across the sky, 

the harebells creep through longer grass

and a yellow bird chinks its coins and

orders bread without any cheese.

 

Now nettles crowd the stinging path,

the toadflax clings, the bramble tears,

the hogweed casts its giant shade,

and foxgloves lay out landing lights

by minarets of willowherb,

cranesbill, vetch and happy ox-eye daisy.

 

Returning through the woodland gloom,

So rank with mould and thick with leaf,  

a warbler sounds the same refrain, 

‘But why, but why, but why, but why?’

 I frown at the intrusion, look askance,   

‘I wish I knew, I knew, I knew.’

 

And the sparrows chatter on under the eaves.

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