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