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Birdsong


The voice in my years
is down to a whisper
though sometimes a birdsong
summons a summer

forgotten, remembered,
remembered, forgotten
the two of us, silent,
in a long-ago garden

as if we had always
for all the words
waiting inside us
to fly, like birds.


Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom Vaughan  would be pleased to hear them.

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