Monday, January 17, 2011

Monday's Poem


Against the grey sky,
in the drizzle of an early morning rain,
your fiery red atop the branch
of a tall green pine,
warbling a song to your mate
who calls back to you from the thicket
of the mulberry brush,
I watch; I listen.

You are there every morning,
six mornings in a row,
looking, calling for her,
your lifetime mate.

I wonder if you've done this each day,
coming to this very same tree
while she gathers the berries;
you, stoic in your perch there,
watching in your puffed up way.                                                                                                      photo image source

You, persistent in stance,
consistent with presence,
relentless in song,
and I,
I sit still with awe.

© Laura Lewis Blischke ~ 2008

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