My baby, your goldfinch can hardly breathe,
Her wings are trembling in fright.
She’s missing her world of trees and streams,
Colourful, open, bright.
My baby, I know that you mean her well,
Keeping her close and warm.
She looks like a tiny fragile shell
Hugged by a friendly storm.
Birds are creatures that won’t be held
Lovingly or by force.
Hush, my baby, it can’t be helped:
Nature has mapped her course.
Cradle your goldfinch one last time,
Let her unfold her wings.
Hush, my baby, she’s gone but I’m
Here to repair all things
Bound to be broken by loss and fear,
Tarnished by hurtful words.
Hush, my baby, it’s time to hear
A skyful of golden birds.
Carlo Crivelli, Madonna and Child, c.1480
a skyful of golden birds
© Copyright: Людмила Прасад, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122032204389
Свидетельство о публикации №122032204389
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