by john clare
On the double log bridge I rest and watch
Before me the backlit hammock of sunlight blotched
To my right the faint flowing sound of the spring
To the left last evenings rain forms a new stream
Above the thunder roll whistle of a passing jet
And behind over the rise go we all to complete
each our separate journey through the backlit as
The whispered breeze quietly comes to nudge us on
The countless crickets serenade with a symphonic song
Calling, ever calling us to the waters below
I break from the backlit spell and enter the flow.
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