Poem: Finch In Drizzle

 

Finch In Drizzle

 

in the damp

of musty-moisty spruce,

smaller than the palm

of a lost child,

 

a lonesome chirp

slips from a podium of veiny branches

in flexible mist.

 

so lovely, this chrip

a high call and yet so sad,

needing a romeo for its juliet.

 

the only sound in a forest so dreary. 

yes, the only sound, tender to resonate,

as a balm.

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