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.

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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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