Tallow rays


The misty morn peels,

Revealing sentinels of wintery fields.

Tallow rays, like a sweet mead glaze

Healing: a warming haze.

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Treading through the meadow, footsteps as light as a fae,

Amazingly, brightening the day,

A pretty, pixie flower called sweet violet

Appears alone, shielded by the sleeping hedgerow

And wrapped with ivy and bay.

 

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Gentle Sentinels


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Their bark is
A precious parchment,
Marked for
Charts;
Sealed sonnets
Secreted in bonnets;
Miniaturised messages
Saved in lockets.
The great Silver Birch
Waves mirthfully,
Saving a waning
Winter’s day.