From the woods near I hear again her trill,

neither loud nor low in the morning still.


Each note is clear and lingers sweetly long

past the unseen singers ceasing her song.



From whence comes this strange power this early hour?

Those wondrous strains that humbles yet empowers?


Ah, this Messenger must ne'er be detained,

decried, denied, fettered, restrained, enchained!---



But e'er allowed free to fly high and yon

to trill in regions not yet trod upon!




  Rodney Franklin (AMPAW@aol.com)

 




Watch these pages for more poems by Rod.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.


I Rode A Wild Horse Once

The Grand Old Mansion

Residue

Laughing Eyes

Queen Anne's Lace

Balancing Act

Autumn Leaves in Haiku


And.......for many others, click the index image.



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