Still, beneath a soft-lit sky

Of pale, grey clouds where songbirds sing,

Pale lilies droop; flowers dye

The ground with hues of sun and sky;

And blossoms of gentian blue

Delicately lift their heads high.

 —

Rose leaves shadow lush, green grass

Which whispers soft as creatures pass.

A turtle stalks, a crevice

Cutting with his bulky, hard mass

Among the supple grass blades

That bend and spring as he passes.

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