The Ash has died, bare-branched
Throughout this summer.
Odin's gallows, Dreamin' Tree,
Died back like every other.
Though autumn leaves begin their fall
Bare Ash stands like a Christmas tree
Embraced, entwined, adorned
With greening from another.
Wisteria's bine has jumped the gap
Between the gardens at the back
To cover Ash tree to its top
To all the world alive, but not.
Half way up this dreamin' tree
A pigeon mounts his mate
A fourth or fifth time in this day
Though autumn's love is late
And well before the Spring.
Corvid's watching blue-winged Jay
Sits low upon his gallow branch,
Planning how to rob their nest
To scalp its precious fledgling squabs
Before they're raised as offspring.
These clatter doves with life long
Mates make glimpse of love's display
But all of God's creation groans
Awaiting when that final day
Finds freedom from frustration
With birth pangs of a better way
And longed for last redemption.
Categories:
squabs, allegory, christian,
Form: Rhyme
Every day and in every life, a pigeon passes by
We usually don't take heed of this Spitfire of the sky.
You'll find it's been out foraging or finding things for nests,
For parenting, I think you'll find that pigeons do it best.
Their bedding may be shabby, not lined with fleece or silk
But unlike most in the avian world, these birds produce rare milk.
The squabs grow up all big and strong, with no formal education
But if you ever see one 'lost', you will be mistaken.
Their homing skills are second to none, so salute them on their way
Through battlefields and across far seas, these birds have saved the day.
Categories:
squabs, animal, appreciation, bird,
Form: Couplet