Shields
Green leaf
outside my window,
what do you think
about the times
are you satisfied with reason.
Do you sense real grief,
held in the suns' glow,
is there a link
between the clink
of motive wind chimes
in their bold dispassion
and the progression
of the seasons,
as has become a fashion.
Fair maiden sits
across the sea
and wonders about me.
In fits
and stirs my eyes have seen,
by her been lit
a song they've been,
a call that is meant to be,
of tinted shields
held in the leafs' green
that paints the fields
and answers why circles bend
to help the rivers fit
the course that is at their end.
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