thelifeofwords

Songbird, your song gilds the dawn. Old feathers fall like jewels upon the ground. This two-legged mammal spies color, Greedy and admiring, decorates a man-made den with moltings of your beauty. I stand in the doorway watching the day begin, A strand from my head bronze and full of fire falls. I laugh and remember that you too are a collector. It warms me to think my own sheddings, whether bright or faded white, may be a thing of wonder, An ornament on your hearth. Wordless, we stand in awe of one another.