Drawn by gold and gothic things,
Vibrations when the church bell rings,
Echoed grace when a choir sings--
You nested on the sill.
Curiosities chosen with the best of earth,
Ribbon red, bluest gem, a marble for its mirth,
Wound around, this one place bound, for a baby’s birth--
Where all is calm and still.
High stands the feather while low the leaves,
Monarch angels pass where love believes,
Face closed in to thwart cruel newborn thieves--
With both claw and bill.
Pink’s jubilant blooming a glorious sight,
Held close together, protected and tight,
Until each delicate bird its heart-song takes flight--
A mother’s greatest thrill.
Mounts up with wings soaring.
Love the rhyme scheme. -gene.
Be well,
Christine
Ron