Cedar Waxwing awaits an inner prompt.
Dressed in buff crème, tips red and jaune,
Bird perches in deepest depths of repose.
A gentle, stirring breeze or its mate's call
May perhaps reawaken a dozing instinct
To feed, to sing, to breed, to build a nest.
For though it sits, conserving a tiny spark,
Reformulating its wildered brain, it rests...
Bird lingers, softly, paragon of tenderness,
Dreaming succulent Saskatoon Berries
Into being, throwing a courtly cloak over
Today's proceedings, this time of healing...
Hope's messenger, dignified and benign,
Avoids my scrutiny, eyes hidden behind
Its impenetrable mask, calmly at peace.
YOU ARE READING
Out of this Earth
PoetryMusings on the luminous sometimes whimsical world of human love: Bring your heart to the Garden for a feast of Earthly delights but come prepared for unexpected twists and dark turns along the way.
