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"They Weren't Bald, but They Were Merry"
by Cristy M.I spy as the eagles soar in their splendor-ful Thursday morning
when the clouds are a tight grey pressing them between
(they move the air around my head, they are so close)
and, in misties, my eyes don't deceive.
There are twelve or twenty and each is a present
wrapped in feather packaging
that left me wondering from whence they came
and why? on this sourful mourning
and why? so far from where they should be.
A fortunate girl thinks, "It's a gift for me"
and never feels too good in the getting to be above blinking a "Thanks." 01/11/2007 Author's Note: some mornings are bad but are made better by serendipitous sights beheld
Posted on 01/11/2007
Copyright © 2024 Cristy M.
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