When evening trills and heaves

to let the day’s toil slip to silt,

I pause and watch the eagle fly

with her brood; fresh life to

swoop and circle, soon to dip

into the thicket barbs for supper.

And though the door of night’s

ajar, I mend the day with patient

stitch by stitch, and forgive the

brash grind’s laughter at my languid

daze, and hum with the insect’s

last catch of honey blossom

from the pink hibiscus.

Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved

Nature Lover, Former Mental Health Professional, Writer https://tinyurl.com/y2cgqhgv

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