Pastoral

When I hear the cadence of your voice,
its songlike tone, its pitch and word choice,
something in me wants to fly the nest,
to build a bower from shining objects,

gather twigs and snails, feed open mouths,
the instinct which makes geese fly south,
makes us wait for spring to follow winter,
brings us briefly, or lifelong, together,

to balance on a bough, and makes me sing
this solitary descant I'm now writing
for no other reason than its harmony,
like the symmetry of wings, wind in leaves.

Copyright © 2003 Sarah Wardle All rights reserved
from Fields Away
Bloodaxe Books / Dufour Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission