Saturday, July 12, 2014

Where Wild Birds Sing . . .

The house is empty.
Alone, I'm here.
The silence swells
To quiet.  Clear
Sound beyond sound,
As walls inhale
And windows sigh,
The roof exhales.
I open door
And walk outside
Where wild birds sing
And lives collide
With blessings pure;
God's presence, sure.


  1. I love this, Martha! I've been in a reflective state of mind lately, and it appears that you're in a moment of quiet here, also. This prose is so crisp and clear! In my mind's eye, I was there with you, stepping out into that bright moment. Just absolutely lovely and very powerful in its simplicity. <3

    - Dawn

    1. Thank you so much for your kind words, Dawn! The poem was inspired by literally how still our house is when both Danny and Giovanni are not here. Both are out of town for a few days (different locals) and the quiet definitely helps me to reflect and to write.
      Love and blessings!

  2. Great poem. I like those quiet mornings.

    1. They are the best, aren't they? Thanks, Joyce!
      Love and blessings!