Sunday, 28 January 2018

... and a most beautiful wren

while still shadowed and gray
there bursts a song
from a Carolina wren
full of the anticipated day

plump brown wee bird
with upturned tail
pointing like an arrow
persistent without fail

we have a deal
the wren and me

dried mealworms
sprinkled on the wicker chair
inside the storm window's edge
and in the nooks crannied in stone
for his song's exclaim
trumpeting our never alone

mj 1.8.16 poem and drawing

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