I have a visiting bluebird
Standing in my potpourri bowl
Bathing in aromatic leaves
Singing a reverie
About her dying tree
And I join in, with her plea
“Trees are the air we breath
Feeding us food and seed
Nourishing land and sea
Please let us grow and breed.”

In the morning mist
Beside the potpourri dish
There, the bluebird is lying
I see her sad eyes are crying
I hear her choking, but still singing
“My fragile wings are not flying
Give me pure air to breath
Give me clean seed, in my feed
Before it is time, to begin walking
Find me holy waters, and I’ll try swimming.”

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Categories: L.W.W.O.H. Submissions Posts, Poetry

Tags: Death, Grief, Hope, Life, Literature, Nature, Non-Fiction, Poetry, Prose, Writing