Sometimes remembering
Is a good thing.


Heard on a warm summers day,
A little birdie whistle.
Wonder if he's happy,
Or did he sit upon a thistle.

Maybe that was a screech,
Heard from a bigger bird.
Remembering what my father
Heard, At the dawn chorus
Of the birds.
Woken up stormed out of bed,
As he opened the window up.
I still remember what he said,
He bellowed. "Shut up."
Closed the window,
Then climbed back into bed.

Poetry by Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 70 times
Written on 2021-12-13 at 02:23

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