Living a Poem

Winter still hangs inside of me

like the branches of a low tree, like the cold in my chest.
But, this morning, the bluebirds came ...

They tried to tell me.
 How the seasons change....that I mustn't fuss about little things.
They bathed and left.

Then a new bird sang outside my window.
A sweet high sound.
Solitary and pure.
I listened.
I heard a voice, this time.
And I smiled.


CC-2012