Out Of Reach Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

From across the narrow alley
he watched her at the window
of her attic room as steadily she
wrote poem after poem in the glow

of early evening candlelight. And on
the windowsill a few birds nested
just beyond the light that shone
where her desultory gaze so often rested,

seeking inspiration. Often the nesting birds
sat watching her as if they mistook
for crumbs the sparse scatterings of her words
on the pallid pages of her book.

For ardent love of her he read all
the poetry he could find,
till words of poets near and far and great and small
filled his heart to distant corners of his mind.

At length he began to write
his own words down
late into the night
till, from far beyond his room, his own renown

descended like flocks of birds.
Asked by the curious and eager press
to what he owed his vast success, he chose his words
carefully enough to hide his intense distress

at the persistent image of a girl whose words
were crumbs out of the reach of nesting birds.