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Poems you sent to us about this picture, taken in our garden


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Here is my submission for the current picture of the Bird and the Snow

Copyright image taken by  Poetree Creations

All for Her

“It was all for her” the swallow said
As it swelled its breast with pride
Watching the man with black umbrella
Walk from side to side

“It was all for her” The man softly spoke
As he considered all he had
And kept his feet to shuffle between
The snows pile up ahead.

“It was all for her” The snow declared
As it whittled down its stock
Becoming just another pile
Of water among the rocks
 
“It was all for her” the rocks declared
As they mark the borders by
And so the sun may glisten upon
Their bumped backs, soft and dry

“It was all for me” the sun affirmed
As she raised her gentle head
And watched the people praise her warmth
Wishing for Summers heat  instead.

 

I am Philisapherhttp://lisainger.com/

Here is my submission for the current picture of the Bird and the Snow

robin
…and if this
       little bird
                               could share of what it’s
                                               mind conceives, would I even
                                               understand how simple life
                                                can be …
 
 
thanks for the opportunity.   Lita
 
 
   EstreLita Pondoc
How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.
~ Wayne Dyer

I’ve composed a poem for your contest with the chickadee in the snow picture.  

And then there was one…And so, here I am, upon the winter of my joie de vivre,
where once were perched two friendly birds; now rests thus only one.
A wooden cage erected hence, that I can never leave,
the snow the only thing that will remember when I’m done.
 
I cannot see the outside world as I once knew I could —
I gaze through disconnected visage, staring at the cold.
The bitter chill assaults me, and I’m left from what is good;
My breath hangs in the air, and with each second, I grow old.
 
The greens are grey around me; all the flowers?  Gone to sleep.
A broken tree breaks through the white of everpresent ice;
all around the wooden husk, the ivy starts to creep
and strangle out its life and each last wisely sage advice.
 
The earth’s adorned in frosted dew just as a christening gown.
There’s empty footprints in the snow aside my freezing feet,
At last I feel the slumber, and I lay my body down,
at the winter of my life, so maybe now, I’ll feel complete.
Brad Bricktower
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