Like to the lark at break of day arising
from sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 29
The Lark Has Flown
The flowers in earthy beds were gently swaying
Near where the lark had built her perfect nest
The ground absorbs the sound of children playing;
the breeze blows soft, the fragrant scents caress
The lark flies high, she swoops and sweetly sings
Around and through the blossom laden trees
her call the catalyst that fuels and brings
the tiny creatures; lures the eager bees
But time flows cruel; its purpose to deny
sweet moments only it can take away
The sullen earth will turn; the skies will cry
and darkness will return to claim the day
The garden wakes when dawn's first seeds are sown
All seems unchanged except the lark has flown
Tim Fellows 2019
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