Sunday, September 21, 2014

Evening Song

In the nearly dark tree
out on the bright edge,
it clings to tender leaves,
rides the wind-swayed branch
and sings.

Small bird,
red as the falling sun,
cries his evening song …
to tarried mate?
to fading sky or
guardian tree?

Drawn deep to darkest night,
I cannot read this creature’s
pure mind; but his breath
leaves my raptured soul bereft.


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