Wren

 

A wren came to my house.

Shocked to be there, 

on the floor, 

by my working desk.

For a fleeting moment

we were aware, 

wren and I,

and then it flew.

 

I found it by my bed,

not a mark on the glass 

of the garden door.

My little wren, so still, 

stunned perhaps I hoped,

waiting for a sign,

for tiny wings to flutter

and fly, but wren was gone.

 

In cupped hands,

I held it’s delicate press

of wings and flesh, and

placed it in the empty nesting box,

above the hedge,

a more familiar place for Wren.

About maskednative

I live in Ireland, in an extended cottage overlooking Waterford Estuary, privvy to constant changes of light on water, colour and movement, tides and people. I am anglo-Irish and although my initial intention was to live here for a year and a day, I am still here, a blow-in to these shores for the past fifteen years. There have been countless times when I wanted to run back to England with homesickness and relief, but for one reason or another, so far, it has not been possible. I surrender, the soul of Ireland has captured me, allowed a glimpse of the world behind the mask of everyday experiences, bringing forth a mixture of words and pictures from an ordinary everyday life, filled with ordinary everydayness that I offer as a celebration, to the creator of this truly wonderful planet.
This entry was posted in Life, Love and the Universe. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Wren

  1. DYLAN FLYNN says:

    I LIKE THIS ONE 90%

    Like

  2. DYLAN FLYNN says:

    I COMING TO U BI THE WHAT POEM ARE YOU DOING NEXT ON YOUR WEBSITE

    Like

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