I walked around, I was bouncing.
Birds sang from leafless trees,
old in wisdom, stately, pronouncing.
Snatches of poems wafted in the breeze.
I walked, my legs were barely moving.
Birds cried together, beseechingly,
in trees haggard, drooping,
reproving.
Moans banging in my ears troubling me.
| Copyright © 2022 by Moristotle |
You’ve set up a great image that begs for more exploration. I want to know what happens in the third stanza!
ReplyDeleteI, too, wanted to go on, but it wasn't maturing on the scheduled I hoped to publish. I guess I'll have to do a follow-on "Moods Winging, Part 2" (when maturity happens). My current image for a third stanza is a crowd of birds of various species having at the thistle and sunflower hearts in our feeders, the competition, some birds bumping others out of the way, the latter being bumped out of the way – a sort of intermixing of the high mood of the first stanza with the low mood of the third.
Delete