I'm a writer, a poet, a dreamer. Born and raised in New York City. I now live in Daytona Beach, Florida. .
The morning came,
with the plop of rain falling down.
There was silence from the window,
only the raindrops like tears coursing down
and I missed the bird choruses so.
Now my apple tree stands empty,
offering the last apples.
There are no birds dancing on the branches,
no songs to be sung.
Autumn has settled in
and the songbirds have flown.
Such an odd silence,
taking a walk in the woods.
A lonely woodpecker
can be heard knocking on wood.
The parks give me some comfort,
pigeons are old friends,
they never leave.
I wonder if it’s possible -
to teach them to sing?
Their coos so comforting,
as I feed them bread.
The ponds are full of ducks,
still swimming before the water,
becomes silent and still.
Gulls fly in from the sea,
seeking fish at the market.
In my garden, the crows, ravens, and blackbirds,
hop about or fly overhead cackling.
I saw the last of the migratory birds,
One of them turned its head,
as if in silent good-bye -
until it is spring again.
© 2021 Gypsy Rose Lee