Bearing down on sound I sense the loss of whirring crowds
Of local critters and this leaves me feeling sad
& much concerned.
My buddleia is ripe and yet the visitors of star and stripe
Are noticed in their absence and are silent
As we speak.
St Swithins Day upon us and the pollen uncollected
How connected are the dots of suspect seasoning
& fate?
They’re maybe here and just not ready to capture eddies on the breeze
My ears will wait and listen long to hear the buzz of
Natures song.
Maybe tomorrow they will fill the air with
Bumble sounds and wings a-whirr and bob around and dance
A waggled flight?
For now the loss is felt and worries me
as flurries go unseen unheard unless until
the balance is refound.
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