A Birdhouse posted on an old wooden fence, sits still as the sunset rolls from a deep blue, to an orange so tense.
The bird inside has settled in for the season, lives for the moment and needs no reason.
Seasons for survival and seasons of birth; dominoes of predators and prey, are pulled with the forces of the earth.
For now the bird sits to rest, just like the owner of the fence, who welcomed them to attach to their own nest.
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Wonder & Wanderlust | Poetry of Roems
PoetryI didn't know the world I read everyday, had a back page, with links to other mediums, in this metaphorical manifestation of philosophical, poetical mischief. This is a collection of profound poetry experiences, exploring the internal, external, met...
