Sunday night sketching, before I iron the school uniforms and throw out the mouldy leftovers from the fridge.
Birdy searched for her queen.
Where might she be?
Sipping hot tea in London?
Cafe au lait in Paris?
Perhaps she is visiting
Rome’s famous fountain,
Or meeting a prince
On an Indian mountain.
Birdy flew fast and strong,
Her wings made up of letters
Which wrote magical words,
And behaved just like feathers.
Her words flapped
“Desperate to find her,”
And “Destination unknown,”
Then spread out “Must stay focused,”
And “On the map it’s not shown.”
While all this time Queen was using
Different wings of her own,
They were the wings of a stage
Far away from her throne.
5 comments:
The Queen as actress??
How is it that I am never so creative just before cleaning out the fridge?
Knitting continues. Done in a week, perhaps, if all goes well. If not, longer.
Beutiful Eleanor. And do you know what? Today I put your little winning in the letter box.....and now when I read your post I see that I think I got it exactly right.....
Take care
Jeanette
I'm with Blackbird!
Your poetry takes me away from here and to a distant land.
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