Poetry Jag, Day 1: The Wren

I’m cleaning out the poetry stash, kids! The good news: the blogs take less time to read. The bad news: it’s poetry! Oh ho ho!


The Wren

Once upon a time, a wren
rare in his land
alit on my finger.
“I will sing for you.”

“You? You will sing for me?
in my land, wrens clog the trees
the endless clamor keeps us awake.
My cat kills ten a day.”

Still, he had other charms.
I brought him home.

He was amusing and smart
had soft feathers
and a kind face.
Ignorant of these things,
he only wished to sing.

As he sat on a sill,
a lady passed.
“A wren! A wren!”
“You realize,” I sighed, “that we have millions?”

“No, YOU have millions.
I am only visiting.
Before today, I thought
wrens were a myth.”

I woke the next day
to find my wren gone.
My clever little songbird
had scrawled a note:

“You may care for me,
but she loves my song.
I care for your affection
but love her adoration.
I have gone to be a myth made real.”

I am still surrounded by wrens.
None so clever
or soft-feathered.

I wear earplugs to sleep.
My cat kills ten a day.

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