The Goldfinch Call

Picture: Fishing In The Spring by Vincent Van Gogh




New-born leaves spread their wings,

They’ve been doing it for so many springs

And I wonder when would they ever stop

All this nonsense of colour, fall and pop

Back, out again from their woody source,

As green as words can’t really tell. Of course,

I know time is just a concept, a funny game

We play to see ourselves as something tame.


But wild birds are calling

And they will get an answer

For you can’t stop a dancer

From rising and falling.


Fresh maple leaves breathe their first

Gust of wind in the coy sunlight;

The robin’s home brings sudden delight

And blackthorns bloom in a burst

Of rejuvenating scent.

Winter is spent.


For the Goldfinch has appeared

On the doorstep of my home

And I can’t help feeling kind of weird…

Is this a dream for play and roam?



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