A Songbird Climbs
In breaths of morning dawn the generations before would drift through my mind. A legacy of gold and silver in depths of the dawning rise and in a picture book of vivid yesteryears I would climb. From the feathered pillow to the creaking oak floor, across the hall to the kitchen where the steamy coffee I would pour. Drowning in my coffee gaze a sweet reflection of Grandpa's face, deep beneath the creamy clouds with one raised brow, hair silver brown.
through the aged window
upon the swaying wheat field
a songbird climbs
Copyright © Rick Parise | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment