Upon the coral-budded maple spray,
Against the glad expanse of limpid blue,
He asks the question that begins each day,
Entreating dusk without a trace of rue:
"Oh, is it not?" To finish his refrain,
And help him feed the brood within his nest,
I stand and rake the garden in the rain,
While saying "Love," through flames that match his breast.
Come share with me the innocence of mind
That guarantees a life without a flaw,
Beloved bird! It rests beyond my kind
To break the shell, but never break the law
In vales of Eden that we must transcend,
Where strains of rapture never had an end.
© 2009 by Ellin
Anderson. All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be copied or used in any way
without written permission from the author.