There’ll be no solemn song
Fore-and-aft, you’ll flutter about
Warm weather will wait ‘Til Eastern Bluejay flies home So, too, I will wait
tempestuous lyAs if he cannot resist me
Truth be told, I’m fond of him, too
Remarkable as he is — less a vivid red than most, and volume missing in the tufts of his shaggy cone
I know the migration he’s been through, and he needs that
Unafraid to ask, I say, “What is it you want?”
His response…be still , my heart!
I won’t betray his confidence, but we see eye-to-eye
It’s the reason he finds himself landing in my backyard peach tree at every possible opportunity
Poking around in the Echinace a, for calm
Glad I give him refuge, I leave open the door
Talking with him like this, leaves me wanting more
I prefer my quicker shutter
These nouns all move
I can be about
We look ahead at sixty now So we wait and keep walking Original thought credit: Ms. Joni Mitchell; “Both Sides Now”
Make your way, you, into my night-thoughts, bandying about Thrashing within my yesterdays, my tonights An eternal terrorist, it would seem, with no new tactics Age old, you’re old, I’m getting old and have had enough I will tell you this, though you will not hear: I am more More than this, more than us, more than you can handle The proof is how it took forever for you and that you’re still trying I’m still here, greater than any sum -look how you are less
I’d walk away from that song
Why the grown hawk would struggle on
I've seen it, though
I reached up on high
You've what cools me
How you warm me
A Cardinal, spying from the pow’r lines by my kitchen window, acts tempestuously
I find things
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