The Nest Is Never Empty

The nest is never empty A fluttering of feathered feelings Stirring dust motes of memory, That empty spot on the wall All that space in the closets Full of snowstorms and mitten moments. Time sits idly in its chair Waiting - tapping its fingers Anticipating - that flurry of activity No doors slam, no rush is felt throughout the house. How could this nest, this house, Be filled with such an emptiness? John G. Lawless ©5/1/2023