deepundergroundpoetry.com
Above Rockhollow
A robin sits on the left side of the tree,
showered in blossom,
staring out across the lawn feeling
the changed wind
sweep across the setting,
low in the valley.
Crisp calls echo through the space,
telling stories to their winged friends and relatives
as I sit at the breakfast table, looking out, sipping overbrewed coffee
admiring the greenery, pondering my next job, making lists
and quickly
scratching them out
as my teething urchin
finishes another raspberry
and screams at me for more
like so many chicks in Spring.
Ah, there are many, very many things
my hands, my head, my legs could do here
but likelihood is her skin will be on mine
as I stare out on robins and my dear, reliable warbler
going about their day.
showered in blossom,
staring out across the lawn feeling
the changed wind
sweep across the setting,
low in the valley.
Crisp calls echo through the space,
telling stories to their winged friends and relatives
as I sit at the breakfast table, looking out, sipping overbrewed coffee
admiring the greenery, pondering my next job, making lists
and quickly
scratching them out
as my teething urchin
finishes another raspberry
and screams at me for more
like so many chicks in Spring.
Ah, there are many, very many things
my hands, my head, my legs could do here
but likelihood is her skin will be on mine
as I stare out on robins and my dear, reliable warbler
going about their day.
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