I can scarcely bear the splendor of the world.

It’s wonder humbles the wisp that is me.

Minutiae of eyes and speechless tongue

astounded by the promise of a sunrise.

Elegant trees lift their mottled arms

flecked with leaves of gold and green

an ancient cache of living things

To be a winged bearer of no possessions

a flicker of color in the highest tree.


87 thoughts on “A Winged Bird

  1. A very beautiful (dare I say splendid) poem, Holly!
    It is said that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.
    Even when you write of sadness or melancholy, it’s always beautiful, because you are a beholder with eyes that see beauty.

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  2. Beautiful, Holly. “I can scarcely bear the splendor of the world.” I’m sue that’s one way birds react to the world. Birds have an advantage that they can glimpse the future, witness the present, and view the past from their flying overhead and high perches.

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  3. Your imagery bar none is the best I have ever read, Holly! Oh my goodness! I read this poem three times and the delight each time cascaded over me with such softness and bliss. The world you describe is Utopia. Yes it does exist if we attune ourselves to it. Bless you for sharing your rare and wondrous Gift with us! xo

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