(A "Hallmark" of Spring)
Tucked into her twig-knitted nest
a small sparrow sits preening her breast
Shallow though her tiny head rises
above it's rim to watch for any surprises
No eggs yet as spring draws near
though soon I 'spect some may appear
Tiny ones in turquoise blue 'n brown
nestled safely among branches around
It must be a sparrow's truest delight
in keeping her brood safely out o' sight
tucked away 'tween a cradle of twigs
of horsehairs 'n feathers 'n willow sprigs
I'll measure my joy in spring's arrival
by this young sparrow's enduring survival
And I'll languish in nature's beauties
with the watching of her motherly duties
For soon will arrive tiny young squeaks
squirming for worms with frail young beaks
Fledgling little feathers from nest inside
will blossom in spring once winter's denied
But should I lament winter's leaving
or the last fallen snow leaves me grieving
I'll feed my sorrow from the marrow
of this little nesting and pregnant sparrow
(March 18 2016)
I can remember hiding and listening
to the music stemming from my fathers hands.
Careful not to alert him; else the bow
would fall, the melody would cease.
Majestically the bow would sing on contact
as it danced upon each string. Each note
went on and on, in unison with the melody
heard in the background.
How proud I was of my father then and
even more proud of him, today.
Some time ago, the horsehairs and wood had
been carefully put away. For years now, the
music had ceased. Though silence is heard by
everyone's ear, I will always hear my
father's accompaniment to the music on the
radio.
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