The Weaverbirds

Certainly they had their nests

a hotel, castle or highrise

and all was well beyond all tell

that bright shrub by the riverside.

Were they as such who live alone

like letters, pigeons in a coop,

my heart should not have skipped and soared

nor yet my soul this treasure keep.

Twas not the singing, not the plume,

but that their flight in joyful bliss

filled my heart as visions speak.

Oh would that we like theirs be one

for all were yes, a gladdened host

were each communed, beloved, belonged.

From Brendan Connolly's anthology, The Bridle Path,

prepared for publication and edited by Brian Bingham,

Next edition of Automatic Pilot available in print and digital format in July 2021.

Closing date for submissions, 15th June 2021.