Suzette Richards

(Cape Town, SOUTH AFRICA)

The Song Thrush


Awakening this idyllic morn
All pretence shorn
Passions to slate
Dreams now abate

Dew cling jealously to eyelids
From dark it rids
The leaves cover
They still hover

Languidly it unfolds its wings
Then clearly sings
The shy song thrush
Memories rush

Submitted: Sunday, May 05, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 18, 2013

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