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Song

  
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It made me look and stop awhile
 
This song from bellowed breast
 
On high, on branch, a feathered one
 
Without a spring-time nest
 
 
 
Low winter sun escaped the clouds
 
And stroked the preening bird
 
Deep traffic flowed below the elm
 
But still the song was heard
 
 
 
The songbird sang for all things new
 
A voice of fledgling hope
 
Dancing from each ancient branch
 
In fine plumage of bespoke
 
 
 
I took my leave as day departed
 
A song took flight from where it started.
Stephen Hollaway
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