Morning poetry

ORIGINAL WORK. LEAVE IT THE FUCK ALONE UNLESS YOU HAVE MY EXPRESSED PERMISSION.

I heard it in the morning, was a whisper, was a note

So different from the dry oak leaves that catch in Autumn’s throat

No cackle this, no crackle this, a single silver note

All through the misty morning twisting like a tattered ghost

I heard it clear as daybreak on a loam-dark forest path

I wondered here this note so clear that sounds like ancient wrath

When I turned round to face the sound I saw before my eyes

The last retreating glimmer of the riders in the sky

I heard the call, I heard the cry, the howling of the horn

And if I’d less to hold me down I surely would be gone

Yes, I surely would be gone

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