Post by Ashley on Jan 22, 2011 15:07:23 GMT -5
Evening Finches
The soft little sound sends the heart a flutter;
a caged little creature’s eyes rested on the sun.
While the burnt sienna light flickers in the west,
the hops click a trail across the newspapers,
the hanging cage swinging as they jump and stare.
The pretty colors don’t match their feathers.
For the skies lacks the purity whites, the wood browns,
the fiery reds, the intense sunlight yellows that flash
while wings stretch out and chiding sounds sing.
Looking at the skies and the solace it brings.
Confined behind the glass, though a soft nip scolds,
chortling, humming their own tunes.
Caged, perhaps, but hardly not free--
able to cry their joyful songs, able to greet,
able to play, able to be.
Each little chirp, little coo, little sigh,
all comes with their own little meanings,
all comes with their own little goodbyes.
Nuzzled faced pressed together tight,
watching the sun go down,
singing a soft goodnight.
The soft little sound sends the heart a flutter;
a caged little creature’s eyes rested on the sun.
While the burnt sienna light flickers in the west,
the hops click a trail across the newspapers,
the hanging cage swinging as they jump and stare.
The pretty colors don’t match their feathers.
For the skies lacks the purity whites, the wood browns,
the fiery reds, the intense sunlight yellows that flash
while wings stretch out and chiding sounds sing.
Looking at the skies and the solace it brings.
Confined behind the glass, though a soft nip scolds,
chortling, humming their own tunes.
Caged, perhaps, but hardly not free--
able to cry their joyful songs, able to greet,
able to play, able to be.
Each little chirp, little coo, little sigh,
all comes with their own little meanings,
all comes with their own little goodbyes.
Nuzzled faced pressed together tight,
watching the sun go down,
singing a soft goodnight.
