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The Linnet's Wings

The opening of ramsons by Julian Dobson

It's the year's birthday: a blaze of beech

above, emerald gloss below, a blush

as wood anemones fold themselves for sleep.




Put dirt around your feet; let ferns curl_

from your toes. Greet the disorder,

bindweed-brazen: rub sunshine in your skin.




Let dry or sodden limbs erupt in green,

be bramble-muscled, twist towards the light;

sling rainbows on your shoulders, wrap warm breeze




around your cheeks. Every bubble of the brook

is rhythm, each tumble of the stream a poem.

It's time to dance: the woods are white with stars.



The Linnets Wings