By Vernie Lynn DeMille
The song that perched within my soul
And sang from branches high
Has flown to trees on higher peaks
And left my heart behind.
I long to hear the notes again,
As winter fills my ears,
The blasts and buffeting of storms
A loud, tumultuous roar.
Just one more strain, that trill of spring,
The voice both rich and still;
The way I felt when once it sang
I almost can’t recall.
There lingers in this space
Where feathers caught the light
The hint of down, a nestled perch
The promise of return.
So listening in stillness, I,
Look skyward for a sign,
A flash of sunlight on the tip
Of feathers rustling.
Sunlight glistens on the dew,
Captured in the dawn.
Frozen. Suspended. Waiting.
Breath caught, anxious for the thaw.
I find within that frozen space,
That breath of time between,
The girl who was, the one who is,
The woman who may be.
And hear it ring, just one clear note,
From the voice I loved before
As it calls to me to stretch my wings,
Rise unafraid and soar.