when the clouds fade and night awakes
we wait by the muddy stream where the reeds grew
and the graceful crane flew.
away from the congestion of the city
you and I have our place on the mountain's head
in the fresh air of spring.
we see below the cliff, a pale sea of mourning widows
flow throughout the streets, cluttering the synagogues
with broken hopes and heads bowed.
their cries raise Heavenward, like little strands of a song
but are quieted by earth's end.
where will they go tomorrow, what will become of my sisters?
i don't want to become like one of them,
homeless birds with no where to turn.
but everyday I see so much of myself in them
and every hour we form an unbreakable bond
by our likenesses; our pasts and doomed futures.
no one will ever love us again.
then i catch your gaze from the corner of my eye,
analyzing my thought and grim expression.
and to my surprise I hear you say,
'When I finish the house, I want you as my wife'
i choke with astonished spirit. can it be?
has Heaven found a home for me?
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Homeless Bird by Bianca Free )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Vikram G. Aarella
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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