(22/03/66 / Manchester)

Poetic, Melody

Every heart has a poetic, melody
Doesn't every voice want some form of parity?
Like that alert; spring black bird, flying back and forth
Perched in boughs both low and high in treetops and gorse
Flying unheard to nurture her, own cherished world.

Aren't we full of song, aren't we too keeping them hushed?
Waiting just the right moment; in the morn, abrupt
To sing our; hearts out rhythmically, pure and loud.
Isn't every breast full to bursting out in song?
All night long, all year long, all live lifelong.

by Mark Heathcote

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