Winged Joy
I heard you --
calling out from the top most branches
of the transplanted maple that was
driven four hours over mountains
and dug into the bed of my back yard.
Perching there --
you surveyed all things around you;
children splashing in the neighbour's pool,
orchard trees fresh sprayed with dormant oil,
lawn mown and edged and irrigated,
and me --
dozing in the late day sun,
book open in my lap, a brief
escape from earthbound thoughts.
You roused me --
and I saw your winged song take flight…
and then recalled that joy
is often found
on wings.
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