Little Bird

People somewhere see her smiling,
Hear her laugh, enjoying what I felt
Was mine sometimes. Those times
Have passed, and, chances are,
They will not come around again.
I've become a piece of granite,
Motionless and solid, changing only
Due to wear on me. She remains
A little bird, who sings and darts
From tree to tree, and, having
Fluttered far away, no doubt
Enchants all those around her,
As she once did me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2021-03-22 at 16:45

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