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 of the Mountains

Water  whistles upon my lips
Like songbirds from the mountain
That make their seldom trips
When thick clouds surround them.

When all leave into their homes,
Birds settle amongst a land alone,
And their song on what war exhumes…
Untill earthen clouds fall undone.

The bird,as i drink, hovers…
My eyes are closed and yours
Teach me unlike the others…
As gossip on a summers’ doors.

I open my eyes and then I hear
The dry whisper of almond trees.
I should not wait long here
Hope is little, and mountains near.

Their song has settled there,
In mountains, in war hidden.
So they return and lift their
Song,the land, were it has fallen.