Her song is caught on the whisper
of your carefully chosen words.
She is swept into the thorn bushes
singing beautiful trinkets that ring
the branches and bind her mind,
knowing ultimately what you seek,
holding onto the fading sun’s warmth,
her eyes glittering with every kindness,
each word of truthful thought burnt
into the parchment of her soul.
She falls upon the sharpest thorn
expels a note of exquisite truth
in dying breath she calls your name.


17 responses to “Thornbird

  1. “she falls upon the sharpest thorn/ expels a note of exquisite truth…” that line is brilliant!! and the poem as a whole so lovely. Beautiful job.

  2. Faithful love, what can come close? This beautiful poem portrays a faithful lover’s ways well. Some things in life will never change, and thankfully this is one.

  3. Your poem rings out with song…your song and that of the legendary thornbird, rising above its own agony of impalement an death to sing of love. A beautiful write…again, Abi :))

  4. And where was the Linnet, when all this was kicking off in the thorn bushes!

    But, seriously, this is just gorgeous, Abi. It has such a deep down to mother earth feel about it and, I wonder, what other level of meaning you intended here? I think I can guess.

  5. Beautiful. Oddly, although the title led me to Thornbird, as I read, I sensed I was staring into a river in contemplation, working through pain. Is that weird or what? Maybe I was interjecting personal imagery to layer over yours.

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