The Starling's Dance

A poem.

THE STARLING'S DANCE

The starling's rusty voice
creaks open
the gates of June.

This spring afternoon
flutters past
on butterfly wings.

Moments dance by,
their tiny feet
stir only small leaves.

The great gray trees
count seasons
like golden rings

on a dowager's
wrinkled hands.

– B.R. Strahan

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