Hyde Park

H

Leaves tinseled
With sunlight
Whisper above me
While wisps of
Wind frolic
Amongst branches
Swaying in
Symphonic irritation
I lie below
Reflecting
What is above
Not the tinselling
Or the frolicking
Nor the whispering
But the
Symphonic irritation
The symphonic
Irritation of
Nerves stretched
Taunt, over strung
And tightened
Twang against
The metallic tones
Of muted skies.

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