by Ethel Mortenson Davis
for April Chischilly
Little bird,
with wound on her chest,
comes to my water
each day.
Other birds
push her back,
but she is steadfast and stays.
She reminds me of you.
The first sunlight
that warms my body
in the early spring
after a long, cold winter
reminds me of you.
This morning, as the red, glowing mushroom
shone out from the dark forest floor,
an orange- red like no other,
it, too,
reminds me of you.
fourwindowspress 