Carole Anne Kaufman whistles as I read Ode to Stubbled Fields. The poem was written at The Porches Writing Retreat in Virginia, USA.
Here's the link to the recording --
Here's the poem --
Ode to Stubbled Fields
Where mountains blend old
with frost
How morning’s dawn
brings orange to blue
inside us
Where crows that are so fully made
belong
and autumn tends away
or leaves drift behind
Or chosen songs forever hum
Where brambles edge
the less with more
and dark berries of
These marvels come so happened upon --
their early crests
are all there is of knowing
Yes
Where mountains blend only here
with only if
And take each heart its sake
to opened days in stubbled fields
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