Had it not been spring! By Stephen
Sexton
The moral of the story I donât know, but in the end the fifty sovereigns were safe in the magpieâs nest, and the farmer wasnât murdered by the soldiers. God in the spit and tinsel of the nest, or the secular magic of coincidenceâ something kept the hundred-eyed regiment staring in its legacy of footprints. Yes and yesâmore than nature loves the meek, nature loves their stories. The kingâs army killed and was killed, the farmer is long in his paradise. And since its whole bright sprawl is gold: parking meters, kerbstones, sewer grates, the spell of it is broken by abundance. Heavenâs gold is thoughtfuls of earth. Remember mutable textures of dream, the first glimpse of the gates, refugees stripped, keening widows scraping soldiersâ boots for dirt where beyond prayer they pray something grows?
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