Translation in the echoes of time.

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I can still hear the four o’clock bird song whistling to my heart, telling me the secrets of my untrodden path.
I asked them, please sing slow,
for the language you are using I really do not know.
They whistled in return, a lullaby of truth,
and somehow I just knew,
I’d one day know their tune.

Karen Hayward ©2016

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2 thoughts on “Translation in the echoes of time.

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