But they don't bark as scrounging
dogs or lie as fallen logs. The angels
dance around every branch. The sun glistens
as I listen to the lark. There's a spark of magic

in the air. The azure sky winks as I pass
by. I can stand in the same spot as I did yesterday
and it will look new. A ****** appears wet from
his swim. The leaves are trim. And footprints

squash holes in the snow. I frame the scene
as I go, so I can paint it on a page to save for
my old age as my head billows as the clouds
at all that it surrounds!