A little bluebird came by sound
And why it was I did not know,
But after time, talk, looking around…
I thought I thought it through.

I did not know it, but this house
Was the sort with birds about.
So it goes,that this bird throws
This thinker for a think about.

A friend of mines touching sketch of a Bluebird.

I’ve been recently interested in writing children’s poetry, so a couple days ago I was unusually in the mood to writing something happy, and this happened.

Songbirds from our Mountain

Blood  whistles upon my lips
Like songbirds from our mountain
That make their seldom trips
When Western clouds surround them.

As we rush into our homes,
Crows roam a land alone,
And their song, on what war exhumes…
Until earthen clouds fall undone.

And as we weep a vulture hovers…
My eyes are closed and yours.
Teach me unlike the others…
As gossip on a summer’s doors.

I open my eyes and then I hear
The dry whisper of almond trees.
How can we stay here
Hope is little, the crows are near.