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A winter-absent heron
Returns on the April wind,
Long-legging the lake’s sedges;
Enthralled it spears at a find –
A tench dies in its passion
Mourned by a mist of midges.
Shroud-grey
and dusty that heron
Corpse-like
on parachute wingsHangs on the lake’s black waters;
Willow flock froths up and sings,
The aspen is a white-leaved clarion,
But the heron broods on slaughters.
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©
April 2014