Bridged.

 

 

Bridged.

 

A small bird on rock-peaks above quick rolling
bubble-veined stream began speaking to me.
Not by known language he piped lovely notes 
warbling amid leafy hides voicing with clarity.

With no way to transcribe I leaned nearer into
his mind and caught the right pitch of his tone.
No poetry could describe the cadence through
which interpretation his bird-trill made known.

 

With melodic outpouring of humble respect for
refreshment he sang even when slaking thirst.
A bird bridged understanding by sweet choral 
abundance and fearless give of avian outburst.

 

I learned the awe needed

           as bird-talk that morning            

by a dipper on coexistence

my listening ear adorned.

 

 

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Your lines tell me you are a lover of all creatures great and small. I listen to bird song too, every day when I wake, I lie and listen to them communicating between themselves and know that they have their own special language. Their song bridges the divide between their kingdom and ours. I love listening to the blackbirds in my garden, it brings me closer to nature. Your poem is conveyed with much beauty and linguistic skill Fay.

Chris

[Fay Slimm]

Delighted that you too find bird-speak a language that thrills your imagination dear Chris..... thank you so much for your read and review.

[Neville]

Now ya talking my kinda language... and you scribe it so well too.... Nature is my first love... maybe.. N

[Fay Slimm]

Thank you Neville - tis that way with me too.

[Kay Salisu Titilola]

Beautiful!
It's always good to understand what nature has to present.
I love your staza. It's really spoke to me more.

Well written, Fay.

[Fay Slimm]

Really pleased the poem spoke to you Kay and thank you ever so for your welcome review.