Thursday, January 12, 2017

What’s the Phoebe doing here
In coldest cold
And barest bones of year
A sentinel on skeleton of
Boughs that crack the brittle air
And where’s his little mate
He calls for so beseechingly
Has he remained to look for her
The depth of winter swallowing his plea
His two note song deep frozen there
Wrapped in winter’s will
No other music to be heard
But one lone bird
We wait together
He and I
Though all in vain
No answer comes
No sweet reply
No love to keep him warm
And Spring too far away

Sara Mathews     January 2017

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