A Hedge of Trees

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By Dave Coulter

Rough Edges

A hedge of trees is all around;
The blackbird’s praise I shall not hide;
Above my book so smoothly lined
The birds are singing far and wide.

In a green cloak of bushy boughs
The cuckoo pipes his melodies –
Be good to me, God, on Judgment Day! –
How well I write beneath the trees!

Anonymous, Ireland, circa 7th century

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