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Promise

by Bernadette Weyde
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The first day came from the bitter north
Was there ever so cold a Spring?
But the sun shone out for an hour at noon,
And we heard the cuckoo sing!

The next day woke with a cheerless blast
And a sky that was grey with snow.
But we heard the corncrake tune his pipe
In the meadow down below!

The third day sobbed with a dismal rain,
The very trees looked numb,
But the swallows arrived on the old roof-tree.
And we knew that the summer would come!


(source: by ‘Cushag’ (Josephine Kermode)’ photo, photographer unknown)

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