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  • Nature

    Bog

    Breath of golden symphony, bourn upon the mist;
    Weave within the wooden bones of tide and shore;
    Stain the feathered wing with gilding, break the shadows tryst;
    Rejoice the birth of day, jewel flung across the moor.

    Cloaked in glory’s lighted hues of gem-touched imagery;
    Blazoned morn dances with the weightless feet of fog;
    Cavort above the silk of water’s fur and rippled shivering;
    Magnify the brilliant vestige of a simple bog.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    hart’s Poems (12)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Listen 1
    Shades 1
    Sea Fog 0
    Wait 1
    War 0
    Dare I 1
    Fool 0
    Bog 0
    Warriors 0
    Me 0
    Share... 1
    Hunt me Down 0