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A pink blush
to the southern sky
Time is flying
And I'm heading home.
I see the world
Through a curtain
of rosy mist
Clearing as I go.
Words spiral around my head
Like summer swallows
They won't be too long, now.
Which words shall I follow?
These, about the Kestrel
Hanging high above the haggard
The poetry of constant movement
And silent stillness.

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