Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The cuckoo's a pretty bird...

Oh the cuckoo's a pretty bird, she sings as she flies/ She brings us glad tidings and she never lies./ She drinks the pretty flowers to keep her voice clear/ and she never sings Cuckoo 'till the spring of the year.

Spring comes early here. I've thawed. My secrets are melting away. Inside their ice: stories.

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