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On This Day (Sonnet)
by Kay D. Weeks

One and eighty years, and, on this day,
a seagull sang in notes I'd never heard.
Its music pulled me long, as if to say,
"Let's celebrate our lives!" You hear that bird?

Sweet silence, out my window, watching snow.
Three songbirds nestled, leaf-bound, yet somehow
their sleek blue feathers catching flakes, and now,
like iridescent cloaks, begin to glow.

Gray, my cat, a stretch, unfurls her tail.
In softest sleep, she smiles my name out loud.
I dream the turquoise sea, and one green snail,
while icy angels dress themselves as clouds.

Now morning, winter sun, and it's March first.
I'll seek the nectar joy— continued thirst.


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