Like birds with broken wings
We approach the other in timidity
Our feathers brushing past
As we communicate about our pains
Sitting still in silence
We imagine St. Francis preaching to us
Of poverty and peace
We rest in pews of white, of fledgling flight
Mother serenity
To whom we’re carrying an innocent trust
Under her brooding wings
We warm her up with our loving embrace
1 comment:
hey
I don't often read - but today I thought I'd give it a gander. and since I'm seeing so many spam comments here - I thought a "real" one would be nice...
I like your poem.
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