by Samuel Wells
A hermit thrush
Came by today
To see a stranger
In the woods
He cocked his head
And left behind
A fragment
Of a little seed
The truth is that
I never was
Invited to his
Forest mead
Thank goodness that
My host is kind
To leave me with this
Simple trace
A sacrament we
Both concede
Quite proper for
A woodland grace.
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