My poems fly out to you like birds
freed from captivity.
They take flight on the wind of love
that carries them on its breath.
Sometimes they go amiss
and fall into a river of despair
where they float along on the current
for a time before sinking.
Other times a mockingbird swoops down
and rescues them,
but then, liking the taste,
brings them to the nest to feed her young.
O I hope my poems nourish the fledglings
and that one day they will repay me
by singing them to you.
You will hear the words I’ve written at last
when they perch upon a branch in the forest
and sing as you are passing,
or at twilight as you walk in a garden
and think of me.
No comments:
Post a Comment