slight rustle of wings
a lone bird in flight
an apple she bites
discarded in a bin
in the quiet of the night
distressed by her plight
without her nice things
a lone bird in flight
no comfort or light
she ties flowers with string
in the quiet of the night
she espies a blue kite
the colour of ming
a lone bird in flight
she plays her small fife
after all it is spring
in the quiet of the night
a lone bird in flight
Shame about the flowers in the dustbin.
ReplyDeleteWonder if someone had chucked them in the quiet of the night.
Such a lot to think about in your poem.
Enjoyed it very much and lovely to meet you, Cressida . . . :)
So much beauty in the quiet of the night. Lovely rhyme in this Cressida.
ReplyDelete...a blue kite the color of ming...I live this line. The lone bird in flight could be melancholy but it isn't. Playing The fife adds a bit if birdsong.
ReplyDelete