Feathered Tribes

My winged tribes of whisp'ring birds, to whom I speak...I read your tweets, 'ten/four'. I find your little 'love notes' left upon my wheels, my windows, and I hear your peals...of cosmic laughter.

Know not to whom I speak, nor thee...of whom you tweet...I listen to your play, my children of the sky. I pray, the flags reach out, their words upon the wind, an everlasting...invitation. Your dear song, was never lost on me.

All is needed, now quite simply empty, save your presence near, a love ungiven, by a world...fills me. It is respite in itself. I hear your gypsies wheels near...arrival from an other world.

Namaste


Written by Bruce James Clyde, at Deming, New Mexico

Art: fire bird, native american, google art