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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 12, Number 1, March 2018

Claire Everett
Northallerton, North Yorkshire, England

Once Upon a Summer

While you love what is kind,
What you can sing in
And love and forget in
All that's ahead and behind.

~ from "The Thrush,'' Edward Thomas

As sure as the sun, moon, stars, all rising in the east. As sure as the pulse in my pillowed ear. I could tell the hour by him. In that netherworld, neither deep enough to be truly dark, nor light enough for twilight, he would begin. And how!

Yet now, but a day later, his non-song is louder than any hollered Will you be mine? Will you be mine? It out-shouts any territorial claim he ever staked and his most emphatic These are my fledglings, MY fledglings, do you understand?

So what, if he has once more escaped those inevitable jaws? As sure as the sun, moon, stars, will rise in the east, his time will come.

the silence
of all our yesterdays . . .
pine-scented wind

Note: Lines from "The Thrush" are from Edward Thomas (1878-1917), Collected Poems, Faber and Faber, 1979.



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