First Bird

Summer time, and being the first one to wake up to the warmth of sun.

 

The day was hot,
A heat not forgotten;
I woke in the morning,
A first and only bird,
Golden form framed,
Face curtained;

I whistled your name;

From the branch of sleep
My hands were wings

To sing you awake

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Author:

Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

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