I walk the lanes, straight-lined
collide with coloured, coupling
butterflies, merging wing-on-wing.
Blackthorns, decked in boozy blossom,
overspill and froth
where songbirds syncopate on high,
fever-flushed with Spring.
In this everyday exuberance,
minus the sweet red wine.
yet I’m still imbibing miracles.
Just 44 words for Linda's quadrille prompt: Wine - which also gave rise to some plant poetry that I'm now adding to my garden blog: Muscari
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