A Sweet Herald

 

Whether you see or don’t see

A Baltimore Oriole sounds occasionally

Like the door to a cellar

Where sometimes a child

Might hide or having

Once been in love

A man may bury love letters

For the cries of birds

Are not what we suppose.

What ails you

Can be greenery though

You’re defended

Overtly happy

Spring has come

So who’d imagine

A whistling bird

Or two building

Their hanging nest

Can stir up

A ghost from boyhood

A hospital room

A window half opened

An echo

From treetops

That wasn’t ever meant for you?

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