As if by Magic

swifts

Mid-April

still cold at dawn’s bright

light, sharp fresh wind

twinned with bustling showers

flowers’ buds fattening

shooting grass spreads

threads of webs bejewelled with dew

new leaved trees fill out with song

long dead colours revived now blush

rush of streams swelled by melted snow

as high above in sapphire sky

fly beneath the cumuli drifts

appear a swoop of screaming swifts.

 

CLP 08/04/2018

 

In response to the http://www.napowrimo.net Percy Bysshe Shelley prompt…where’s the magic?