Sweet songbird,
Windowsill dweller,
A tune I do not know,
But the goose pimples on my arm paint a picture.
Bluebird, bluebird,
When you left the nest,
Did you ever dream of home?
Of softness,
Of warmth,
Of protection?
Did leaving make you bitter,
Make you curse God with every flutter of your wings against the wind?
Is your tune a sorrow ballad,
Or am I reading into it too much?
Are you perched on my windowsill because it was the first place you saw that reminded you of home?
That screamed motherly charm?
Perhaps I tend to mother things that do not wish to be mothered,
Coddle things that wish to be free,
But if I don't,
Would I fade into the background?
As you fly away,
A tear leaves my eye.
Maybe all the beautiful things in the world are meant to leave me when they inevitably find something better.
Something worth taking flight for.
YOU ARE READING
Does the Rain Ever Stop?: Poems and Musings
PoetryHello Reader, This is my collection of poems and thoughts that I have compiled over the last few years. I have been writing for many years and my number one hope is that someone reads my poems and feels seen. Says "oh that's me". We all live in this...
