When I heard birdsong
I longed for my homeland’s call
Have I become deaf?
I have another craft fair tomorrow for Cancer Research. I should go to bed! Wish me luck. I will reciprocate previous attention soon, as I do… when time allows..it’s only fair.
Under rolling mist
Daylight, birdsong and lush dew
Day 194/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.
I smile at sunset’s throng of small songbirds
singing out while nuzzling their nested fauna,
dreamily chirping ‘til sleep stills them.
Resting in treetops higher than dusk,
but still lower than the scattering raindrops,
they are held firmly by devoted arms that reach
forever into the night, soaring upward
to heaven to sleep there ’til dawn.
I see long, last looks from the sky
before unused clouds crawl along alone
into dark slumber where dreams wait to explode.
Glancing at the flowers’ closed petals
in graceful sleep, the moon casts a shadow
on their last blushes as the day grows weary;
their scent lingers freely and comes closer
to me through the tranquil grace of nightfall,
and we walk hand in hand through the garden
at this quiet time.
I hear the tinkling of ivory
from the stream playing right underneath
my window as it wends its weary way into the
night, moving freely in its dream state;
asleep already but forever moving
closer to a new dawn in another
world somewhere out there and beyond
our scope – to bask always in moonlight’s
I love the setting of the sun as she lays
out her golden robes; all too soon she will
adorn them once more, but for now she rests
and allows the beauty of a silver face to watch
over us in the darkness. Once inside the night,
the moon caresses the tips of nightfall wherever
it touches and we all slip silently into sleep.
If we’re lucky we soar high and meet
the heavens in our dreams and wake to live
them a thousandfold once daylight’s
waking moment’s blossom.
O quilted sky
drape gently on me
here in my shallow darkness.
Before the moon is high,
let me in as nightfall’s
shadow soaked image
under such a fine cloak,
and this day, which has seen
all there is to see,
is hidden underneath it all.
As I lay crying, I will remember
not to wish or want for it all;
sadness is what it is,
but because it is nightfall
where no one can see,
I will share my thoughts
before I dream
to the edge of sleep –
and until its frayed corners
sift the yawns of sunshine
and covers this bed.
I will rise refreshed on my
and watch the morning’s
soft dew dissipate
with tears still in my eyes
trying to escape with it
into the air’s naked light
half lit, wake
to congregate as buds on boughs
with fingers spread to
temper such glowing
melody; their songs will echo
the stirring winds ’til this full chorus
becomes the daylight of each new day,
and I can breathe it all in.