Tiny Wren

This morning

when the mist disappeared

I heard wrestling in the litter under the hedge of dormant rhododendrons,

and I thought spring is here.

Hear the busy, tiny birds.

And I thought of you without the cover of a grey sky.

How you will find a shadow

to slip inside until your dark period is done.

Image: Youth Mourning, Sir George Clausen, 1916

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