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Sep 2013
The dark woods circle the clearing.
The marsh birds, safe in their stalks,
Curtains to the yellow,
Cautiously wading.
Wick and wings — wand
Over, under leaves.
Merlin shoots — morning,
Smokes the light
Air.  

The woodland birds,
High and low,
Flick and feed,
Soon will turn,
To fallen
Seeds.
Seán Mac Falls
Written by
Seán Mac Falls  Éire
(Éire)   
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