The Thrush
I looked up your profile on a whim, wondering what your view was like that side of everything, who you were these days, who you were with. And, did you have kids, a home, a where in all your what. The bird sang out, the bird that calls and sends away; it only called to close the door. Not longing did I look, for future unspoken, past too spoken. No, in rest I looked because my where is here, prepared and planted in a garden far from doors. I hoped you might be planted too. The thrush sang true; there are some things we're not intended for.
The poetry here is always free to read, but I do offer paid subscription options for anyone who would like to support my work.
If you wish to show your support but a paid subscription is out of reach, you can simply buy me a coffee and help me stay awake so I can write more.
Whether or not you choose either of these options, I’m grateful that you’ve chosen to spend time here. Your presence is support enough!
This poem was generated by the author’s human mind with zero AI / LLM involvement.
"The bird sang out, the bird
that calls and sends away;
it only called to close the door."
I love it.
Great poem. I loved the line, “your view that side of everything.” Something about this one!