When The Cosmos Awakens


More than just an exercise in form, your Constanza forces several readings searching hidden crusts of delight and sight-and-sound-and-smell sensory just-right load. That you amaze merely confirms I am sure what so many of us already have found in your words and works…and in some ways it is a shame to call it by toil’s second name for too few call such craft joy. Mil gracias, dona Yasmin.

yaskhan

Fragrant blossoms perfume the trees
Air roseate with redolence
Birds warbling endless resonance.

Dew luminesces flowers and leaves
Where butterflies on morning jaunt
Fluttering prismatic feathers flaunt.

Morning serenade by bees
Nuzzling blooms for their sweet nectar
The quèen bee's honey collector.

Leaves rustled by a gentle breeze
Cloudless sky vaulting green meadows
Lambs grazing in peaceful shadows.

Dropping slowly into the eaves
Dry leaves and twigs, the sparrows find
A nest, a home they weave and bind.

Fragrant blossoms perfume the trees
Dew luminesces flowers and leaves
Morning serenade by bees
Leaves rustled by a gentle breeze
Dropping slowly into the eaves.



# The Constanza form of poetry  

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