The hawk flies high In the clear blue sky Reflected in the pool below, A messenger I know. The hawk knows me, My husband said Adding seeds to the feeder, I am the feeder of birds. Now at the poolside, The wind lifting its wings The hawk knows me, I am the writer of words. April 20, 2021 Kristin Moyer
Month: April 2021
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Ten Years Later
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First Blush
White of pear Pink of cherry Purple of plum Tender green of leaves On my window sill the wren sings Delirious with spring As though it were here For the first time. April 13, 2019