Wren Blooms
Poetry
Published in
May 20, 2024
On my windowsill,
among morning mist,
a little wren trills;
songs of eternity.
Hopping with her tender limbs,
sharing a sharp eye contact with me,
he dictates to me, my poetry for the day
A little bloom,
above my nape springs;
in colors of crepe,
a Sufi song of meditation,
in dervish swirl
and from nowhere, an idea spins
and a little poetry comes
I pen it fast, faster than the wind,
I am scared it will fly away with my wren
I owe my poetry,
to my little wren;
my inspiration, my muse, my author,
Come to me each day along with the sanguine sun and
inspire me to write,
billion words from you that you hide,
come through my pen
I owe them all to you!
My little wren!
