The Nestle

A branch, long and slender, With thin thorny tips, free and tender. A drop like bag of grass weave sag, Tied beneath the shreds with a tight tag. Alone in nestle, quietly sunk, A fine cool breeze rolls past the bank. It smoothens and washes each silent piece, As the nest swings...bringing calm and peace. A weeping stream of crystal below, Claims the noise in my mind with its flow. A rare soft heart in fragile grace, In that small home, I’ve found my place. My finer parts in a thin siesta, While the noon sun glows in golden vista. A dream unfolds, with crowned truths wide, Spreading in ripples where calm pools hide.