Asante
There is a bird
That comes each morning singing
I have not heard
Since my exile's ambiguous ending.
I want outside
To find the tree in white mist trembling
And stand beside
It in birdsong gleefully spattering.
My heart breaks here
Because I cannot see you fly from limb
To silent air
And no guns exploding beyond the dim
I want my bird
To come again and coo for love to me
I weep my bird
So far, my heart breaks in melancholy.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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