Brighton Bridge
There came a Thrush
To Brighton bridge
To her cold downy snow
Covered birch woods
Floor planks marked
By hurried prints
Trailing off
to distance errands
In its beak
There a crimson flower
As odd its place to rest
How far it must have traveled
With such a treasured gift
But no more odder
Then the hurried footsteps scattered
Along the weathered floor planks
of Brighton bridge
How places seem so certain
Save to those moments
Made up of steps
And no sooner
in wings aflutter
There the crimson flower left
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