april

A round thing takes a winding path among the open flowers
To right, to left, as if it doesn’t have a care
Lightweight and covered with a mat of hair
Visiting each daffodil
And bluebell, Like a postman calling ,

As if it had never been in doubt
with humming almost wingless travel

As if it had always been going to be there

Anita Greg 08/04/2019

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