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The swallows, martins, gulls, and chirping wrens pay little mind to me along the shore where Kaniatarowanenneh bends around the elbow of the island, more like morning, scented with the after-rain, than later when the sun begins to bake the air, and future memories complain that time is always lurking and will take the sunrise and the morning on its way to afternoon and evening getting dark, the long night to have the final say, to pluck with death the song out of the lark, and yet again we trust another morning will come when Alouette sings its warning.
To encompass a whole classical sonnet in a single sentence is really quite a feat. French poets at the time of Paul Valéry vied with each other to achieve such literally breathtaking outcomes.
Aloutte one first songs taught in grade school . Sang as we walked down a wood path to skate on ice. Sun swallowed by clouds. Snow threatened. Memories of hockey pucks getting hit trying to get a score. Birds were quiet, gone to other shores. Shouts of friends all was heard, never more. A swallow sunrise warning of days to come.