Balls Of Yarn Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Balls of yarn

No, no, no
-this is of no kitten
-playing to make mess.

This is the picture that
-you can see if walking…

It was cold and sky
-in shiver, bundled up
-wore clothes of old days
-that were thick, rough, grey.

The patches were needled
-badly, tough to make her
-Monster of Notre Dame.

The tree, naked, wet
-of the snow, melted
-stood there, erected;
-with very small hands,
-had no bough, just branch.

Some of leaves, dead, brown
-were still holding on…
-foolishly unaware
-of the dead being gone.

On branches, sticks
-balls of yarn, plenty
-all brown and darker
-than they were in summer,
-or warmth of spring.

Then old, young sparrows
-were longer and thinner,
-playful with water
-they bathed and splashed
-when the soft wings flapped.

Now they are puffed like balls
-of brown; from light to the dark.