One Easter Day, when sap was stirring twigs to the core;

Purplerays

I watched a blackbird on a budding sycamore
One Easter Day, when sap was stirring twigs to the core;
I saw his tongue, and crocus-coloured bill
Parting and closing as he turned his trill;
Then he flew down, seized on a stem of hay,
And upped to where his building scheme was under way,
As if so sure a nest was never shaped on spray.

By Thomas Hardy

Artist Mark Rowney

Text & image source: Snowwolfs Woodland Nook
https://www.facebook.com/Snowwolfswoodlandnook/

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Author: dreamweaver333

I love to listen to the whispering of spirit.