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Finding Out a Joy

As I walked out this May morning

I heard the Blackbird

calling from the wood

and there without a word

the Bluebells spread and I said

look at me you pure inquisitors

and this they did -

their mute gaze finding out a joy

I’d too long shaded from the view

and as the Blackbird

carolled in the sunlit glade

I wept for being seen through.