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John C. Bullion


Sunrays shine through the trees
Bouncing off the pond’s calm waters.
A half moon overhead keeps company
With the slowly setting sun,
Still bright enough to cast reflections 
From the wings of a low flying bird,
Which seems to be a buzzard.
Circling overhead it watches,
And waits for some sign of winter, of death.
With no sign of supper on this winter’s day
It soon soars out of sight.
Even the fish feel frisky and alive.
As they jump they make ripples 
In this otherwise lifeless body of water.
The cedars stand tall casting shadows
Proudly across their watery reflections,
As the wind whispers softly, sweet sounds
So soothing, so sincerely seductive.