A muted stirring in the greynessSoft chatter in the eavesRestless whistles that are muffledNo sound of a breezeA sharper sound grates in urgencyPunctuates the linePulsations on a single note The caller is definedIn minutes the sky is lightenedGrey turns to tinge of blueDay hangs briefly in a balanceNight’s silence ensues.
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Ruth Partridge 