Be ever faithful for the night is but a quiet respite from the colorful day ,
for the Dusk swirls into a Blue star in the twilight sky , remaining forever cherished and secured within our celestial minds , to be casually called upon at will , should the need ever arise ..

The song of the Killdeer across the quiet , still pool .. Harboring great anticipation , anchoring a Hula Popper to a gold swivel , the first cast over the olive green waters .. Slowly twitching the rod tip causing the
characteristic audible 'plop ' easily caught within earshot followed by
the topwater eruption ! Caught off guard , setting the barbs with one hand while negotiating fallen timber and stumps , the rod bent double ! Ten pound line stretched to the very limit , the whine of the reel , the threshing of tail fin now with a first glimpse of the goliath just below the surface ! The first Largemouth Bass of the young fishing season ! The quarry locks eyes with angler , the battle grows even more intense , finally your "Hawg' is in the net ! Your cigarettes are strewn everywhere , your tackle box was turned over , your catch has wet you from head to toe but you don't even notice !

Marigold Sun radiates her Universal blessings , setting tin alight and warming our Dawn landscape ..What magnetism pulls the seedling to the sky ? What draw upon life's current will brighten my world with morning light ?

May a hex befall this yard grubbing , bedeviling varmint called Armadillo . Your nothing but a Virginia opossum in tankers armor , and I've rock salt in my shotgun this evening to tan your tin-can , little bottom !!

Gulf winds , carve thy signature across the open plains ...
Unto granite exposures , across the mighty Water Oaks of antiquity ..
Carry thy burden across Appalachian hills , over sandstone shore
and cotton field ...
Hold rare flocks of Starling in thy sured grasp and nurturing ways , usher the cool winds of Autumn on brilliant October days ...
Bring forth the scented air of Gardenia and Magnolia , the pollen of Chestnut Tree and Peach blossom ...
Calm the farm fires of November with captaincy and vigor , return Mother Georgia in May to her lush ,  Summer splendor ....

Vivid Cottonwood images lay across my natural muse ...
Lake dancers sway in the shadows , Georgia red clay
bears earthen testament to her aquatic wonders , teeming along
every living shoreline ..
A prayer before bucolic entities , Bream , Shellcracker and Gopher tortoise , Whitetail Doe and Cottontail rabbit ...
To Bear Creek , cascading mother of Port Lake , to deep western forest as far as my eyes can bear witness ...
The deep blue eyes of my creator , juniper green cover and songbird filled canopy , to the sweet ambrosia of native grasses singing in the afternoon winds ...

Hill Country's trilling Sparrows warble every note on cue , recall every verse and chorus , render every improvisational tune within my melancholy mind with ease and by heart ..

I would wade the calling circumstance before me , free of pagan
resistance .. To describe my color blue , the music of the lake , the calm
of the morning field ..
Raging fires of love , the yield of passion , musics hidden calling ,
echoes across frozen woodland that cry in supplication ..
Black shapes on white media foster ...I am the seagull dancing for
his next meal once more ... Yellow bell salutations , the crow that told the Jay
that called out across the wailing , waiting world , with the Noon cry of repetitive thought and due candor .. Moss atop dead Pine , familiar with it's lot in this life .. The end lying in every direction , hue of birthing green and silver blue resurrection ..
Tall white Pines tickle laughing skies , brown resignation tugging
a struggling mind to the West free , cool March afternoon ....
Sweetgum cones locked in deaths final embrace , their last gaze
unknown . Still as the day , surrounded in life's music , the love of
warm wind , the call of bush berry with each new growth of the coming
Spring .. The white reflective glow down quiet roadways , O' to forever seek such analogy for descriptive written means ....

So the conclusion was reached that in order for the group to survive and prosper some would need to be destroyed ...

School day mittens with checkerboard frilly scarf , candy apple cheeks and glowing brown eyes , gathering with schoolmates for the morning bus ride ..
Snow boots leave glistening , wet impressions on late Winter frost , arms full with lunchbox and violin , waving cheerful goodbyes to proud Mother once again .. Cold gravel cracks beneath the yellow carriage , red brake lights at each farmhouse , further away with each stop , over the hill and gone ....

By the river of my youth on long , hot afternoons , with unkempt vision
and swirling water induced creativity .. My sun soaked edifice , daydreams of whirlpool and eddy , cane poles and wonder .. What majesty lies beyond these turbulent , perfect machinations ...
Addressing wild thicket , visions of DeSoto and warring party .. Cherokee
and Creek .. Tales of boyish wonderment , exploration and struggle along red clay margins ...

Baby boomer farmers tailgating Carolina red apples ...
Engaged in whittling , rocking beside a powder blue Dodge pickup ..
Mother hens in white aprons selling cocoanut cakes and peanut brittle .
Bluegrass pickers drawing a small crowd , children feasting on corn dogs
with Rock candy tucked away in their shirts ...
Funnel cake fragrance on joyous September nights ...

When the 'Canadians' return to the countryside in November ,
morning gaggles will fly right by my very window !
Off for a break on the banks of Port Lake , to rest a spell from their
arduous travel , to stretch their wings , collect their thoughts and get a few winks !
Up in the morning for a quick 'Dixie Breakfast' then back to the business
of travel along the river .. Cruising down the Chattahoochee with a brief rest stop in Columbus , then back to 'The Blue' , nonstop and bound for home in warm , serene Florida ...

Bloodshot eyes .. Shaving camo paint off five days of beard .. Exhaustion ..
A hot breakfast one time beneath a poncho ..Coming home ..

Mocha brown fawns dance amid my orange horizon ,
hoping to please their mother under a dashing springtime Sun ..
Curiously forage Chestnut and acorn , alert to the call of the
morning Brown Thrasher , the chime of young Turkey hens and
the call of Coyote and river dancer ..
Wood Duck ducklings careen Port Lake , smacking sweet bills
as they work the edges ... Tiny green Frogs line the banks , perform
their morning ballads in chorus with Katydids and House crickets while
water spiders lead interpretive dance along the mirrored waterway ..
Mr. Red Fox is running late , off to points West into the blackberry fields along Bear Creek .. Wisteria , honeysuckle and wild roses are filling my soul as I pray before the morning scenery ....

Rain has taken over my little world ..
Filled the void left for love within my fragile heart ..
Washed away many a good memory , left for naught ...
Belittled tall , hopeful Spring grass in a sea of doubt ..
Marred all thoughts of freedom from depressions grasp ..
Drawn a pallor of anguish and loathing across my dark day ..
Rendered my spirited trees to puppets fighting the stiff , stormy breeze .
Haunted my Van Gogh vision of day with voids of pitch , visions of pity..
Removed the silhouette of Oak tree and Moonlit nights , seized the brilliant starlight that I need in my life ..

Cold , clear creek water hitchhiked from Alabama , caught a thunderstorm
just the other side of Anniston ..
It rode into Palmetto at the stroke of midnight , jumped off a wall cloud and hit the ground running !
Straight down Main Street taking everything it could carry .. Pine straw , old newspapers , bubble gum wrappers ! Oak leaves , bottle caps and fast food napkins !
The storm came and went , city life returned to normal  , a hundred gallons of well travelled transpired water now has it's eyes set on the city of Savannah ..
It'll bide it's time in the heat of Palmetto , laying in a storm sewer waiting to be called skyward ... A one way ticket on the 'Evaporation Express' ,
riding within an eastbound thunderstorm , dropping in on another little city to clean and cool the street , meet at the bottom of a hill to start the journey all over again ..

Field crickets will play glorious music by the light of the crescent Moon ,
Elves will sing songs of sweet Summer in the name of beautiful June ..

In dark and dreary Georgia swampland , in the midnight hour with the light of the Moon as your only friend .. Yellow and red eyes glow in the shadows , cottonmouths and gators slowly cross the waters ...
Bullfrogs sing in the Cattails , Horned Owls screech across the timberlands .. Bobcats scream , sound just like a woman late at night ,
they'll catch you off guard every time , make your beard turn white from fright ..Mosquitos are relentless , the humidity hell , blood ******* leeches , brown bats and rabid foxes .. Wild hogs work the bogs left and right , don't ever get caught by a razorback without a good plan or corner a '****' by accident , kick a Snapper thinking it's just a rock , or pick up a Rattlesnake looking for a walkin' stick .. Rumors of black panthers and 'shine wild men ', Confederate soldier ghost and quicksand .. Always lay a trail from where you started are you'll spend all night in haunted , Georgia swamp country ...

I pause at the marriage of boulder and river .. Along brimming , turquoise pools where I find my loves reflection ..
River Birches that yearn for their freedom ..The cool recompense of shaded ferns which uniformly line her red clay escarpments ....
Cobalt blue wildflowers ..The cover and color of my dreams paint both shores seemingly forever .. Red , black and green dragonflies patrol the riverbank trails , Pileated woodpeckers and Cardinals exchange their
riparian oaths before Orioles and cooing Doves ..
Cicadas rhythmically repeat whimsical , ancient melodies .. The songs of Utopia charge the abundant sights and smells before me ...

She's waving goodbye at the gate ..
A pretty blue dreamscape , adorned with golden scarf across my Eastern gaze .. Our world is turning fast with dark hues and white house landscapes , busy homestead horizons and silver , gravel driveways ..
Forest green love for all Earths inhabitants , Venus has called her friends out to entertain , celestial orbs to inspire rhyme , to sing of love unrequited by warm fires ... To be free of mind and secured in the shelter of hope , latter day convocation and warm tomorrows ...

My lifeblood is set adrift from the foreshore bottom land of Camp Creek .. To mingle with her fauna , patiently transfixed with the finality of life
giving sea ...Bound for the salted waters of coastal Georgia  , longing for the surety of the Atlantic's welcome embrace , for the solace of shrieking gulls , the camaraderie of sea oat and white sands , for the first rays of her morning Sun ...

Wild onion giving the wind away , a rebellious occidental gust ever so
slightly ringing the farm bell today ...Pie pans throwing sun lit reflections over untilled plats of earth , pine tree music with every ****** of air , every tantalizing breath .. The blue eye with contrails , the scraggily hair of a stray dog in every direction , walking coarse skin , high stepping all manner of human corruption and dander , feeling a bit parasitic about the whole encounter . Mans tug on the world , his greedy self proclaimed domineering attitude , the forest of March will prove to be a glimpse of July in a world of unchecked destruction and denial ..A Red Hawk passionately concurred with my write as I left the pine grove for home this night ..

I've carried different flags in my day ..Worn tired emotions on both
sleeves ... Call me the King of Altruism .. The poet that hid as the shot glasses slammed the kitchen table harder with each drink .. The sight of Smirnoff ***** bottles are wicked painful to this very day .. The little ******* that sent his thoughts to the secret blue sky with wooden matches and red eyes so no one could read them .. Never understood , doomed and terminally depressed ..No hope .. No cure ... Everything is getting 'tighter' year after year.. Tighter I would say .. The house , the last bastion of private contemplation and solace is growing small .. Like the injured animal it's sheltering tonight .. Wringing out the last bit of memory on a web site , until the well eventually runs dry ... No more running or hanging on to the left arm with the right hand ..Goodbye Reflections , facing the living dead , Genuflections regarding the waste of days .. Hours of atrophy fulfilled ..

To stair step the terraced fields of my youth ...
Privy to foraging Bobwhite quail and feeding Dove ,
Trails revisiting fields of millet , peanut and sorghum ,
dug wells and rugged , white washed cowsheds ..
Shamrock fields meeting the dusky , azure afternoon ..
The brisk shadow of redundant porch fans , overwhelmed by July's onslaught .. The welcome relief at dusk  , courtesy of sweet tea and 'brittle'
..

Across the superiority of natures wardens where watchful eyes
lay claim to natural , devoted miracles ... Where the gracious minions of the animal kingdom practice love for the land and upmost respect for the living waters that flow above and beneath her .. Plants of myriad shape and size in relentless travel skyward , in journey toward life giving rays of Sun at the crack of Dawn ..
A feast on the remnants of the brilliant canopy , surrendering leaves that free themselves of physical struggle to return to the soil below , to mingle once again amongst relative and benefactor , born anew ...
The episodic , audible travails of Winter zephyr , struggling through deep southern pine thicket in brazen attempt to cull brown straw cover , forever lost in briar bramble and Water Oak , Sycamore and Dogwood ..

If your a new writer looking for a lesson on poetry then take off all your clothes and open every curtain and/or blind in your dwelling ! You will need to control your fear of shame and humiliation from the very beginning , if you can't handle the rough stuff then go easy on yourself and stick to writing fiction !

I just wanted to tell you about brown eyed Carolynn , the sweetest little girl I've ever laid two eyes upon .. They say Harrison looks just like his Grandfather ,  growing bigger by the hour , as tall as his father one day if that's even possible .. Mary Ellen has turned my world upside down , you two would absolutely adore one another , I can't wait to look over and see her pretty face every morning ! I've lost the beard plus a hundred or so pounds , traded in farm life for the woods in Chattahoochee Hills .. Mom is feeling better and doing what she loves , eating Chinese food and watching old shows .. Just thought I'd check in with you for awhile tonight and keep you up to date on all that is good in my life ! Later ....

There are colors yet unknown in my finite view of Earth , artistic wonders undiscovered , to this day quite alone .. Geometric shapes where Sweetgum trees silhouette the majestic Dawn .. Enchantment with every turn go I , to study my religion by day , collect my thoughts and observations by night .. To interplay among life undiscovered  , to revel someday in its happenstance ... The weathered profiles of a million botanicals unknown or forgotten . An ocean whose riddles remain unsolved , seventy percent of our precious world where exploration has barely scratched the surface .. Dark , rainy afternoons reconfigured with burst of light , the surface of oceans ever mysterious , highlighted by the Moon on hazy nights .. I flew over Moccasin Creek to sample fresh water and take in mountain greenery ..Walked the treetops of the Oconee Forest to witness the floor of the woodlands as a squirrel , crow or eagle ..Slithered along the Georgia clay like a Black Racer , cautiously studied each image before me with the curiosity of a Red fox .. Enthralled with the Savannah Dancers of Tybee Island , precious gulls , blue ***** and brown pelicans .. Welcome every change of season , Dark pine thickets tell of death and renewal ...

                                                          II­
Jagged , blue grass approaches , green straw tops , quiet
cinnamon needle oceans connected by silver streak spider webbing ..
Warm winds divide earthen cover , lifeless termite ridden forefathers lay in testament to bitter destruction ... Our Noon star nourishes bold , sylvan seedlings , beneath her languishing February predicament however ... Grassy field roads lay locked in period of service , daylight path corrections , marble land buoy sentries within thistle , dandelion and Sawgrass .. Gold , knee high cover caresses , reaching skyward beside the field road , lying forgotten , left to the mercy of kudzu , marble and granite .. Scrags reclaim rusted encroachments , tin in battle with the tepid wail of afternoon wind as stick pines mimic the Appalachians , gently roll toward the awaiting lavender blue horizon ... As pasture returns to woodlands , blanketed in hues of brown with forest echoes , carry whispered voices into tomorrow ... Lively crows live to tell their wintry tale , resting among scuttled pulp wood entanglements , to be born again , covered in the pity of lingering broom sage ...                                                              ­                                                  

                                                        III    ­                                                                 ­Across the edge of twilight where soft lavender hues lay at
rest atop her riparian horizon .. Dandelion blooms pepper the
red clay embankments , lone bucks survey brown fields of harvested
corn ..Mourning doves cry for the end of day , wild hogs lay tracks at the rivers edge . Toms sing of their loneliness  , persimmons lay bitter along country lanes , the meat of Chestnut not harvested , the final years of tall , stately Pecans go shamefully unnoticed .. Barbed wire divisions etch Winter burned pasture , Morgans and Appaloosas graze the fertile , ambrosial green narrows .. Manmade pools dot the Crescent lady , cattle ditches appear along creeks and rivers holding Rock bass , Shell ******* , Yellowbellies and Bluegills ferociously hunting the waters surface , Alligator Snappers and Mudcats work the turbulent bottoms ... Hayfields , peach and muscadine arbors flourish , boiled peanuts and sorghum syrup , collards and sweet potatoes ...Blackberry , grape , watermelon and okra ..Water oaks have taken command of the front yard ,  moss and honeysuckle line fence rows , flowing patches of wild grass and snake berry , rocks from Cotton Indian Creeks line hand built flower beds and walkways .. Rhode Island Reds , Buff Orpington's and White Leghorns work these plantations . Sassafras and dewberry , wild plum and rabbit tobaccos . Gardenia , Crape Myrtle , Magnolia , Pine and Chestnut trees  flourish to this day .. The Old Bridge behind Millers Mill still visible , what stories this elder pass could tell before the confluence of the Indian Creeks .. Crayfish , Bream , Largemouth bass , Crappie , Yellow perch and Flathead catfish ! The tale of the Crescent lady lives forever and ever ..

A silent epilogue for afternoon showers , embraced in timid , crimson sunshine . Blessed Summer petrichor fuels nights of windsong , good nature and whippoorwill ballads ..

Red light markers over darkened waters create eerie pause , a fisherman at piers end tugging on a rope tied to a metal basket , shining blue crab with bright searchlight , buoys chiming for shrimp boats that seek the coast . So where do seagulls lay their head when night closes in ?
Lightning far off into the distance , maybe an oil rigger is working through rough seas , a sailing Captain fights the swells from a ship flagged in the Philippines , a vessel containing precious woods from Norway is tossing and turning in vicious winds ? So where do the pelicans fly off to sleep when night settles in ?

A proud , dandy lad stepping up to the podium , directing his subjects at five in the morning ... Every feather flawless , each spur just so , singing
acapella for his fan club down below .. Come hither hens ! On your feet precious chicks ...Daylight is numbered , awake from your slumber ,
Turn the fleeting , final hour of Moonlight handy for the earth is your candy , fresh well water in our faunts , cracked corn in the pans , blackberries on the ground , tall green grass all around ..
Let the cattle , hogs and sheep moan and sloth .. We've chores to finish ,
hours to mark , grain waiting to fill our empty gullets and fence lines to explore and walk ..

Scribbling rhyme , eating pills ..
Tying phrase , fighting sleep and eating pills ..
Counting lines , looking outside , eating pills ..
Proof reading how I feel , switching off lights and eating pills .
Waking up in the morning , reviewing bills , still having to eat pills ..

A Tawny Owl in peerless voice , resonating within lonely , hazy Moorland .. The very breath of Scotland whispers , drawn upon Highland reserves , her intrepid Moon tints a solitary Rise , painted by the hand of St. Gabriel , under the protection of Heavens dominion ..

I'm gonna show the boring , **-hum , roosters and biddies
how the "Other half " lives , tonight it's apple cinnamon hot tea with a tangerine .. I might totally go over the edge with a tablespoon of dark corn syrup in my bedtime oatmeal !

Granite and marble talismans , sugar white sandbars and felled Oak
bridges .. Smallmouth bass explode with hunger at the surface , soft shelled turtles in meditative bliss , fill driftwood and sun drenched rock islands , dancing waters and bank head flora lend a thousand different colors to the afternoon palette of a Kelleytown Summer ...
Water striders communicate with dance to the ballad of a bold Bluejay .. Young anglers test their skills with creek minnows in search of Yellow Perch and Black Crappie as the last hour of daylight swiftly begins to pass ..

Maybe I've been insane since day one and my family
can't find the way to break the news to me ...
I think every night to anyone that would hear me , not to
let me be melted and poured into the 'American Male' mold with
it's false bravado and savage , morale culpability ..
Writing poems for the mind ., clarity and acceptance in a blackened
field of possibilities ..Poetry feeds the pigeons at the park , pets the
lambs at the game ranch , tucks you in with a kiss after dark ...
Prose is simple mathematics , throwing the book aside because you've read the ending , painting with water colors in the rain to incite bleeding , writing help on a wall that no one cares to heed ..Poetry can be lightning screaming into a 440 transformer , heat changing sand to crystal , nitro fueled rocket engines drowning out a locomotive screaming into your field of vision , one five five howitzers pumping rounds into a nuclear reactor . Poetry is Delta Force coming in hard at tree top level , Daisy Cutters dropped over a bivouac in the desert , surrounded on four sides at midnight with zealots committed to killing you ..

Her Saturday is slowly inching away ..
Eyelids grow heavy , timberland begins to darken ..
The music of life slows a beat , thrilled voices drop an octave ,
gradually cascade , methodically erased from creations sweet song ..
Sometimes late afternoon is a silent movie , droning on till the final curtain call ...
Well intended thespians have no stage , the leader of the band is without a public address , the speaker no podium , the lion tamer with no whip to crack , the pastor with no flock to lead to the River Jordan ..
The poetess with her priceless Saturday on paper , tucked away in a shirt pocket , to be absorbed and read aloud tomorrow ...

Men made superb Scotch to imbibe in moderation , to introduce and promote reason , to warm chilled bones on rainy , Winter seasons ..
'Beelzebub' brewed the first barrel of 'Shine' to sway men into Hellfire ,
to quarrel and cause discord amongst their brothers , to forsake their obligations of work , home , wife and children ...

Brother got religion last night , no harm-no foul done as far as I'm concerned .. Although a bit alarmed or even curious , no mischief on his part however , most all folks need , dare I say crave the difference between right and wrong ... Books filled with rules and punishments , the prize at the end of the tunnel if you've managed to stumble through life without breaking one of them ... Walking the Earth with blinders , praying for a benevolent puppeteer not to turn malevolent , pick you up by the short hairs and dip you in a 'Lake of Fire '...The glue that holds the Sun way up high , theological paste keeping the puzzle together day and night ..

I've laid my head on silken pillows , my body rested upon fine Carolina frames , a mahogany bed canopy of soft linens fit for an Emperor , highly polished hardwood floors , wormy Chestnut table tops and Tiffany lamps ... But no set of furniture in the world will bring comfort , nurture and more downright , simple pleasure than a Traditional Wooden Rocker beneath a mature Weeping Willow ...

Make your words miraculous ..If necessary , let India ink mingle with tears . Proudly deliver your pain onto blood soaked papyrus ..
Counsel the depressed with brilliant public diary ,
mitigate thy pain with written inquiry , therapeutic prose
and skillful , honest writing ...

Envision the "Sylvan Lane" for all the wonder it contains ..
For every timeless portrait within Nature's Opus , bring each grain of
sand to perfect focus ...
Every critical dab of color on Monarch butterfly wing , each harmonic progression the Chickadee may sing ..
For the wonders of a mighty Oak , step closer and review each
layer of bark , count the scented Pine cones strewn about the yard ....
Place a gentle hand on the moss covered stones , number every
mushroom on a 'Hollow Log' ...
Witness the blue collar Bumblebee working ******* every flower ..
Ruby throated Hummingbirds , very busy creatures indeed , hour after hour ..

Heavenly host fill Hill Country skies on this night ,
delivering miracles , providing comfort to the oppressed ,
showering a confused , stress laden Earth with hope and
the promise of rest .. Sweet rest .. May Angels swaddle ,
protect and free you of your worldly burden this night ,
committing thy mind to rest , sweet rest .... Good night ..

If Trump is elected President I'm going to get up at six and feed the hens , plant a row of okra come Springtime and grease the tractor that same evening .. Should it be Sanders I'll build cages for Big Boys , go to the lake for a stringer of bluegills and walk barefooted the whole time I'm doing it .. In case it's Clinton I'll be plowing from morning to Noon , stopping for a few figs and a cherry tomato or two ...
If it's Cruz you'll find me picking the blues on a brown guitar , eating Spanish olives like their going out of style , shoring up chicken wire to fend off 'critters' , nipping on Wild Turkey to ease my blisters ....

Politics have no place on this wood porch ... This veranda
was made for welcome , red hued Dawns and indigo Dusk ..
For watching the colors of a Georgia Fall , for counting Red Winged
Blackbirds , listening to the chatter of ground squirrels ...
This old stoop is for lively conversation , for the sound of the Grand Ole
Oprey on Saturday nights , making strawberry ice cream and bragging
about my tomato plants ...
Singing babies and grand babies to sleep , for reading good books with hot tea ... For anyone to sit a spell and "Chew the fat with .."
For any man to rest awhile and be at ease , for being in love and shootin'
the breeze* ....

Opening the book of morning to the first blue page , chapter
one tells of Warblers and Finches , misty hillsides and scenic vistas ..
Thumbing through blessings , every paragraph a loving , written testament to the wonders of today ...

Friday twilights overlooking treetop reflections ,
with a smooth Marlboro and a jigger of bourbon ...

I'm sure I looked a Falcon in the eye on Arabia Mountain ,
he danced the forenoon sky just for me , sang goodbye bound
for the tall trees and I thanked him very kindly as I basked in
supernatural sunlight on the granite , rocky face of Hereafter ..

Wake me when the Elephant Ears grow tall , when the first red rose comes to call , as the mesmerizing scent of Gardenia fills the air , when the Butterfly bushes receive their host in Spring ...
Come to my door when the Crape Myrtles stand glorious , as the Peach trees blossom , when songbirds of every shape and brilliant song prepare their nurseries , as the Pink Begonias undertake their beautiful Summer journey ....