I wake to poetry
I wake to poetry
Each morning I am awakened
by birds, singing in the redbud tree
outside my bedroom window.
I imagine they are not hungry to sing
the way they do before daylight.
I imagine their instincts know life
happens in its own time.
On this morning, I capture the rhyme
in their tweeting, void of strife,
the way a mocking bird might.
I give my poem freedom’s wing
and open sky to go
far, far from the redbud tree,
Green River, the lake and
me.
7 thoughts on "I wake to poetry"
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“I give my poem freedom’s wing
and open sky to go
far, far from the redbud tree,
Green River, the lake and
me.”
I am IN LOVE with this!
It seems poetry was nipping at our toes in the predawn hours.
A beautiful poem, mtpoet!
Thanks, H. A. it does seem that poetry was nipping at our souls in the predawn hours of a new day. That you are in love–the power of poetry.
Yes. Powerful, indeed!
Did you plan the lilting rhythm of the last lines or did they spring from the freedom you gave them?
Your poem reminds me that I have wondered why birds are at their loudest before dawn.
K. Bruce, the lilting rhythm took its own flight down the page, but my overarching plan is in the structure, the rhymes few readers catch, an end-line rhyme scheme spaced far apart. Thanks for asking…
Gaby, there at least three reasons-maybe more for why the sing their dawn chorus.
1. Males sing to mark their territory.
2. Males sing to attract a mate.
3. Insects are not yet active for feeding.
For me, their singing is my alarm clock.