Expansive Mother Sky,
in all your greys and blues,
your hazy winter hues,
you hold my heart
the way the rugged maple
holds the twiggy nest
in which sits a wee brown bird,
serene, and softly singing.
***
Small bird,
with your sweetness
you are
the bodhisattva
of my morning.
Songstress,
you awaken me
to the plight of all beings.
***
You,
who own only feathers,
are far happier
than we.
Teach us your song.
***
A thank you to Brendan for his work at earthweal and Desperate Poets. Shared with the last open link.
For that wee song we are nested, grow deep into a burning world. The witness we bear -- its rapturous sorrow -- is for it and them. Thanks Sherry for the example you've set. See ya down the road.
ReplyDeleteThe poem reminded me of a lullaby, from us to Nature, and the other way around. Thank you for sharing the poem Sherry.
ReplyDeleteI love thinking about the bird with only its feathers being example of how to be happy!
ReplyDeleteSuch strength here.
ReplyDelete