beneath the attic fan in the hall,
I hear it over my morning coffee--
even the children stand askance to listen
when those wrens begin to pipe--
wrens are chirping in our attic
baby wrens
they sound so happy--
it would be sacrilege
to disrupt that kind of bliss--
no lolling in the past
or smothering in the present
while birds sing exuberantly,
yet it's only a matter of time
before they shriek my life away.
The first word was a mistake,
a trip down the wrong path,
but we took it anyway,
and look where we are now.
No comments:
Post a Comment