A Poem: Pretty Little Bird

Pretty little bird lives in a cold nest

On a sterile tree with dead leaves

She flaunts her rainbow coloured breast

And spreads her silk and sea-glittering wings

For all the idle trees to wrestle in contest

To have her peck their stems with her silver beak


In the wild forest, there’s a majestic tree

With a stem as hard as the chest of a god

Branches that spread with grace and symmetry

Alluring and bewitching to one who beholds

Its august shade and its virile leaves


When the sun retires to an unknown land

And the moon stretches out across the sky

Pretty little bird finds the tree without help

Singing sweet songs into the amorous nights

All the flowers the tree gives into her lap

Until the bark dries and all the green dies


Right where the tree stands, deep in the earth

Lies the strong arms of its nurturing roots

That feed the beating of the tree’s heart

And tailors the strength in the fibre of its wood

The power to the branches that hold the little bird


The soils whisper the secrets of the darkness

Of clandestine pecks and romantic coos

The moon can no longer keep it all in silence

Of rattling leaves and the fruits’ flowing juices

The wise forest details the night’s affairs

When the tree learns of the death of its roots

And fails at the attempt of a late resurrection

Pretty little bird flies off for another tree to woo


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