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Mar 2015
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Little king of sun toasting petal,
Cups the air with swirling wings
Flashes, flurries of wetted trials,
How you drink of nectar singing,

With invisible wings let whirring,
So robed in arc of rainbows' sky,
Even lofted mist of morn stirring,
All the shaped air, a moving eye.
Seán Mac Falls
Written by
Seán Mac Falls  Éire
(Éire)   
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