As my mutt and I meandered,

We listened for the windsong;

Through the gate and past the post

To the sloping road of milk,

The road of the clay pools and the

Pink ladies, who always reach out

And up towards the hickory, oak, and pine,

We found the company of

The croak and the crocus, who

Though only scarcely seen in the fiery

Pine needle mulch, are present everywhere,

Responding as my mutt and I

To the never ending cadence,

The weeping and the worshiping

Windsong.

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