A WIDE SUN
Slow cloud
draws the hills.
A drift of warm air takes
the last of the snows.
In deeper valleys green is
no longer an imagining,
And a wide sun
pushes out the days
Into weightless blue evenings.
It is something, now, to float upon,
To hope upon, to gather up and savour.
The fingertips of Spring
parting the valley song
And the woods, a veil of birds,
And a new green day.
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simonhlilly 