High in the tree I spied a bird
his feathers ruffled in the breeze
but on the branch he perched with ease
his bold attempts seemed quite absurd
in the wind his song to be heard
no other birds heard I that day
I could only surmise that they
had bowed their heads to Nature’s roar
returning to the fields once more
continuing with their bird like chores.
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My writing, my books, my poetry and a bit of running.
Brett Kristian
Writing, reading, reflecting.
Independent Publisher of Poetry and Prose
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um...
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Just another blog of random thoughts.
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When the pen takes control. 