Daily Prompt :-) Will We Listen?

Happy National Poetry Month!

The Messenger

by Ann Stanford

I don’t deny that I believe in ghosts

Myself being one. No, not the ultimate last

Spirit, I mean, but this is a messenger.

Soft, soft, last night, falling into sleep

I rose like smoke up, curving past the window,

Floating, a grey cloud seaward, slow and pale.

And then, the wings!

Did you hear the birds piling against your window?

A snow of wings, crowding and gentle, crying

Over and over, each with a single errand

Light cannot bring, nor ever my tongue would say.

Archaic doves, rustling your sleep, and calling

Crowding upon you, drifting and crying love.

Make art about a messenger.