| |
She tends, craftily hidden
From the world around her,
Two of the tiniest little eggs
Buried deeply inside one
Of my hanging porch plants.
Breezes gently rock-a-bye
Her nursery which she made
With the greatest of care;
No fear of any danger there,
Hanging high above predators.
Now serenaded by her mate’s songs
From nearby trees,
They each await their newly
Created family and the
New music that will erupt soon.
Returning each year, they help me greet
And awaken to a brand new season of life.
Carolyn Brunelle
|
|
User Rating: |
|
10.0
/10
(2 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend