Almost lost amidst dead leaves
and severed limbs,
a nest felled by the storm,
barely more than twigs.
On other walks, it would have been
a mass to be avoided,
side-stepped in the rain.
But reason,
shamed by distant fluttering,
let sentiment compel
a search for life
within that sodden lump,
so plainly delicate and still.
How to quell despair,
when prodding leaves no doubt,
spills a hash of shattered shells,
a mother’s beak still full?
I laid small stones by the debris,
a bed too frail for splitting skies,
crushing hail,
and,
heeding wings,
gazed far aloft at hope.
©2021 All Rights Reserved
Barbara Froman 
Stunning. Thank you for this, Barb.
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Thank YOU for your kind words, Tracy. It just felt like the right time for this.
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That is a deeply moving, beautifully crafted poem. Truly.
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Thank you so much, Katia, for your kind words. I don’t consider myself a poet, but nature has a way of reaching and inspiring the expression it needs. I am always amazed by it.
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This is beautiful, Barbara! What a gift you have.
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Thank you for your kind and lovely comment, Gershon. Especially now, it is greatly appreciated.
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