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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