Hi Sally,
Think I agree with Roger that S3 feels out of place and not needed.
Cheers,
Frank
> This is an entirely different poem from the last
>
>
> Mist (II)
>
> Here comes the mist,
> sweeping through the trees,
> whitening summer dawn.
>
> Shapes of poplar,
> chestnut, a grove of oaks
> succumb to its swirl.
>
> I am asked what mist is,
> why enveloping, how
> I use it in metaphor.
>
> It has rolled away,
> white revealing green.
> Colour grows into morning.
>
> Mist of memory, from which
> the shapes of trees
> come back to me,
>
> it clings to secrets
> till dawn's slant sun
> clothes them in roselight
>
> - each branch, every tree -
> a drifting boundary
> beyond whose blind I see.
>
> Sally Evans
>
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