A Rekindling
A blow on the bird’s breast
Had nearly choked the hit nerves
Golden grains danced in stark dark
The bird was reduced to shards
A mild hand and soft lips
With her river sand music
Rekindled its urge to fly
Today it built a small cup
Of the smell from hit breast
Seeking on the hay a blue rest
_________________________________________________
28/02/2017// 59 Words: What doesn’t Kill //
Sponsor: Laura Loo
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