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,
available : www.amazon.com/author/brendanconnolly
Next edition of Automatic Pilot available in print and digital format in July 2021.
Closing date for submissions, 15th June 2021.