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“Unless, by chance, you long: To hear the Soporific susurrating Tumbling bumble Bees at glean in Myriad-hued meadows Or the startling Murmuration of Starlings curling Shadows Athwart the twilit sky; To scent the earthy musk arising Whenever tear shaped water falls From heaven To cleanse the dust That blinds us (Sharp coppery hint Of a spilt heart)” — Peter Pink-Howitt
Unless, by chance, you long:
To hear the
Soporific susurrating
Tumbling bumble
Bees at glean in
Myriad-hued meadows
Or the startling
Murmuration of
Starlings curling
Shadows
Athwart the twilit sky;
To scent the earthy musk arising
Whenever tear shaped water falls
From heaven
To cleanse the dust
That blinds us
(Sharp coppery hint
Of a spilt heart)