Trochilidae Poem by Elle Wolfe

To be a hummingbird, I
Wish to beat my wings in eights
Symbol of the ancients' hum,
Beckoning eternity.

Our form is set in magic;
Iridescent plumage and
Ruby throat, perhaps green
And brilliant, eating violets,
I remain, ephemeral
Every soul of nature confined
In my ever-maddening heart:
Pure as silver wrought from moon-
Light, flight and forever more
And through the narrow, crooked
Corridors inevitable
Made of slick mortality.

Seeking ornithophilous
Flowers, flushed and innocent
Pulchritudinous petals,
Respendant folds of velvet
Their many charms proclaiming
The oldest of enchantments,
Shimmering in the morning dew;
A hymeneal feast of
Calm sweet nectar, sustaining
Then converted into the
Rhythm of the universe;

What a wonder to behold.