early sun, ice in the bowl
I hear a dog bark somewhere
a car passes on the road
out front, over the roof, a
door closes, tinge of ice
in the air's breath moving
softly over my arm, the
sound of birds and bees, my
new heathers sit waiting -
ah the alpines
waiting too: the day of
my joy - nothing disturbs
the wide stretching blue -
and I know, later, the
sun will be so hot
I will seek the shade.  A
Monday morning, 9.00 am,
and my toil is all joy:
out in freedom my soul.

One Year Round The Sun
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