Arthur, good work, but I rearranged into couplets. Except for S3, they seem
to fit better to me.
A kestrel unthreads a life,
murmurs of the morning stilled.
Summer fades into the soil,
the smells of sweet rot pervade.
Beyond the mists
and kestrel’s searching beak, winter uncurls.
The radio mutters.
I never dare to dream of spring.
Re S3, I wonder if the last line might work as
Beyond the mists,
and kestrel's cry, winter uncurls.
searching beak a bit of a bump to me.
Thanks much.
Gary
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