Were you sitting in the oak tree last night?
I thought I saw you, white wings and twinkling
eyes, long legs folded, yet ready for flight.
And then you were gone. You left me puzzling,
Where did my long legged heron boy go?
Did a green haired river sprite play a song
with nimble fingers on fiddle and bow
and beckon you to follow her along?
Or was it simply time for you to fly
to another world beyond what we see
wings spanning the whole of the starry sky,
now stretching to embrace eternity?
With unclipped wings, fly away without fear.
I did not hold you close to hold you here.
September 1971 to April 1995
Scribbles, Snippets, and Other Doggerel
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