Can you imagine a warm, round nest,
the setting sun and warmth of feathered companions.
At first light of day to sing creation’s song
of how the world began.
No wonder you sing.
While sitting in the gazebo in Gill’s garden,
I saw a little bird in the tree.
But on closer inspection, it was simply a leaf.
All is not what it appears to be,
but one way or another,
real or imagined,
Gill was here,