On Lantern Hill the shadbush blooms
And clouds meander overhead.
The rocks are rough beneath my boots
The lichens stiff beneath my hand.
A small black-suited butterfly
Imbibes the blossoms airy mead.
I watch the redtails hover by
Stretch out my legs and take my ease.
I’ve heard that when the shadbush blows
The shadfish breast New England stream
Their frail white petals brush my nose
Among the still-emerging leaves.
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