A Waste Poem by Ronda Willick

A Waste

A silent sun sets before your eyes
and hereby the bird's eye
will call until the land is lowered.

Always, yet, will you or I
let be the birds who cowered.

Ronda Willick
Wednesday, August 28, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: birds
poem poems birds
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Poems By Ronda Willick
A Waste
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Ronda Willick

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8/28/2026 7:59:22 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3

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