April
Under the weather
(gallons of rain and irritable wind),
a little goldfinch alighted
in all his lemony and black vestment
to herald a spring hymn
on my patio.
At first glance,
I mistook him for a warbler;
his color muted,
his girth exaggerated by
puffed out feathers.
Then I read in his sad eyes
a lethargy,
a silent psalm he
dared give credence to.
Mouth gaping.
I heard the pain of his mute confession.
A somber lamentation of
marvelous, glorious impermanence.
Such a beautiful bird, and a bit of a sad poem.
Great writing, though, and that delights.
Agreed! The writing especially in the first and last stanzas is phenomenal!