March morning

The Sparrows call call call
Loudly to each other
From the rooftops, seven
On a Sunday morning.


The magpies soar soar soar
Their black and white feathers
Flashing in the spring sun
As they look for breakfast.


The blackbird sing sing sings
His beautiful song from
The apple tree’s bent branch
Whose buds are still tiny.


Fluffy clouds fly fly fly
Past high above my head,
In a rush, places to
Go, people to rain on.

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