M a t u r a t i o n...
Pearl white, ash black infant sparrows;
staring at empty olde bottles of merlot,
mesmerised, by their hued rufescence,
blind to the myriad nuances harboring.
Fly not nestlings, still dwarfed you'll be
on midnight jaunts with crows stalking.
Soon you'll sense how natures cradling
bares pulse- superseding Mother-Love.
Untie these nurture threads, break free,
matriarchial completion, now it 's time-
to take wings....into the southern winds,
sparrows live to fly the southern winds.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Added by Poetry Lover
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