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Pitter Patter is the sound
A frenzied chorus of sea birds, start their sounds at four forty-five, signaling the start of another day has arrived.
The wind blows stronger, through the trees. The speed and intensity more than a breeze.
The rain falls lightly dampening the ground, pitter patter, pitter patter, is the sound.
The mist coats everything in a grey mysterious cloak, creating swirls of grey and white, that look like puffs of chimney smoke.
The birds are waiting for the mist to turn and lift and some humans are hoping to be treated to a gift.
When the mist has gone and the sun has risen, we are hopeful that the birds display will be a breathtaking vision.
Another poem inspired by the visit to the Lake District. I made an early start.
To Be Frank
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