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The Lane Before The Canal

Nestled in a little while
A man made emblem of certainty
Gentle waters rank and file
beckoning times sure to be

The little lane that leads to here
mirrors waters placid and free
on each bank both far and near
nature endures endlessly

In spring the wild rose blooms
beside the birds new song
a beckoning of summer plumes
sure to circle all along

In majestic summer days
yacht sails fly languidly
suntanned fields of corn are raised
whilst new born birds fly free

Autumnal leaves tumble down
unsung upon the steady stream
rivers run on ruddy ground
flights of lovers golden dreams

An icy chill of barren strings
that winter heralds low
the flocks depart on zephyrs wings
the sky is filled with snow

The lark no longer sings
nor is there life along this path
a little death, on little wings
fires stoked inside the hearth

When in the longer days to come
the frosty grip is loosened
the suns new rays arise on some
on others it is festooned

And in the dark a nightingale
its song does hark remembrance
to pass along this path, not fail
a lark does sing transcendence

For on this lane before the stream
where waters pass and trickle
the cycles round like in a dream
the seasons dance is fickle.

RMP (2010)

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