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
i am grey
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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Comments

author
Jill Tait

Awwwa pretty, precise little piece of perfection ❤️?❤️

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