At_Last

Birds G.F.E. McGuiness

Streams embrace To river's gain, Mountain melts, Recent rain, Subjoin assents, Swirled in eddies, Venting inevitability. But, What of me?

Little birds Of subtle hue Prove what fitting form can do Flitting on through streaming crests Flutter versed of downward press Presses upwards. Diving wingless Spiraling, Mavens play a sport Which mocks disaster, Artful feathers' reappearance Unfurl to save in perfect clearance, Staving timbers washed along With chipping laughs of song. In deluge raging to the sea Fatal of it's force Brutal in it's course, I am the tossed uprooted tree Awash in fate Drowned in streams Of torrents, weathered. Whirled of fantasy, Of birds, Of dreams that I could be so feathered.

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