Poem -

THE BIRDS

THE BIRDS

you sing songs to me
i do not listen, my tastes have changed
you play a guitar, the grey colour of eyes

but it is my eyes I see 
and the birds
a reflection
they have gathered on the tree beyond the window
they compete with you and i'm annoyed

i can't hear them
i hear you instead but I don't listen
your fingers are skillful
precise

a perfect rhythm, unlike my heart
which has stopped
you stop

you wipe your eyes which are grey
you are grey
your fingers are skillful
precise
you walk away 
your footsteps in perfect time with my heart
which beats again
I listen to the birds

Marion Price(2020)

 
 

 
 

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author
Jill Tait

Awwwa pretty, precise little piece of perfection ❤️💗❤️

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