Birdies

The clear song of the early wren

trills between the wake up sounds,

from hedges, bush and to fascine

it looses his sharp vibrato cheer,

looking through my little pane,

I see a robin sitting notes to sing,

auburn, orange, he blows his whistle,

my morning is open, my day begins

again but still so new, I see the silver lines

on and through the spider's web, trembling,

on the corner of the gutter a sparrow trots,

staccato but light-hearted, the twittering,

I hear their song ringing in my heart

hum on the rhythm of this little poem

before I even see them, I feel them in my head

the birdies, which make me leave my bed.

© Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

10/01/2015