In France, they ask
"Where do the robins go in summer?"
The passerines all sing
Robins are darker in the Maritimes.
I sit, hands in lap,
and wait, somewhat patiently
for the indigo buntings' return
drunk on passion flower nectar
Passing at night
star steered
exactly home
perfect
The crows joyously
drive the hawks away
and it's time, past time
for the eagles' mating fall
The last of the ice
at river's edge clings
but is doomed -- spring smiles
around every trunk and blade
jjl
9 February 2009
2 comments:
I am transfigured to another land
Quietly sitting on outer porch
Gazing over rock-strewn and willow covered meadow
Holding hand and heart and soul...dreaming of what dwells within
Knowing our lives intertwine anew as spring finds us...together always
Positively lovely, m'love, positively!! You are becoming a poet on your own.
♥
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