Thursday, February 23, 2012

While I'm here ... Poor Whitney

A tribute, of sorts

(For Whitney)

Snow on the bough snuggles about
the form of a blackbird, her brown feathers
still, now, her hymn stolen by the gale
buffeting the twigs that built her cage.

So cold, this weather. A chorus of beaks
unite, for a moment, to mark the end
of a heart-rent song sent to the heavens
too soon, too soon. A snowdrop blooms.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Post a Comment