Bending Low from Beauty

 In the middle of the night,
I was awakened by an owl.
Who would stay up all night
With so little Moon for light?
This morning a lark went mad,
Sang his heart out, the sad
Song speaking to my waking heart.
 
Now summer flowers are planted,
White flowers bloom upon the path
Leading up to the red house.
I appreciate the morning rain—
Geraniums are potted on the deck,
Red as blood, slowly growing.
 
Birds and flowers carry on their own,
Drowning me in both singing and blooming,
Moving my body to bend low from beauty.
The black dog notices all, including
Butterflies awash in color, fluttering
Across stonewalls and flowers and grass.

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