Flighty Bird, so precious true
hath made her nest, within my heart
And seared her touch upon my lips
In light, all mortal cares depart.
But time hath shown for toying sake
Her nest doth flounder in it's place
She's taken fight to seek once more
And left her pieces - empty grace
She, Flighty Bird, so precious true
now settles elsewhere for a while
Like dew, there once then gone to air
Her game - flirt fraught with playful flare!
YOU ARE READING
Virgil's Paintbrush - Original Poetry Collection
PoetrySometimes you have to paint a picture with words because there's no other way to paint it.
