Chirping there, and there,
but never here.
Still, if I am still inside,
the snow bunting will alight on this silver bough.
Not born with a silver spoon in my mouth,
You did place a cultured pearl in my hands.
And so from this sweet irritation,
The good of humanity glows that much more
Weigh well the price of new perspectives.
They cannot be drawn without the vanishing point.
Even pain clawing in it's jealous rage
Does snarl and bite against it's pull.
Babes nude and baldly
Their cries crack from sleep like wind snapped twigs.
Imploring the stark sky for her
She rushes, hushes
Leaves do not take a hint
That they enchant trees no more-if they ever did.
Instead, trees yawn in ennui