When the mother bird returns

by theuglyearring

I am a student of wrens.
When the mother bird returns
to her brood, beak squirming
with winged breakfast, a shrill
clamor rises like jingling
from tiny, high-pitched bells.
Who’d have guessed such a small
house contained so many voices?
The sound they make is the pure sound
of life’s hunger. Who hangs our house
in the world’s branches, and listens
when we sing from our hunger?
Because I love best those songs
that shake the house of the singer,
I am a student of wrens.

(Baby Wrens’ Voices by Thomas R. Smith)

(continuing on the earth momma vibe and thinking of them with their beautiful swelling bellies.)

(photos from owlsnest)

Advertisements