Warbling, a pretty sparrow,
she’s come to visit thee,
to spread wonder and good tidings,
pure beauty to be seen.
She scratches around
the back garden,
throwing her head back,
intelligent eyes glinting occasionally,
she is here with great promise,
her effect is really something that
needs to be felt
to be believed.
Suddenly, inspiration flows through
your left hand,
swim in your mind,
she’s here to inspire,
you suddenly realise,
her presence within yours
a desirous prize.
How lucky you feel
that upon you she’s bestowed
her ability to assist you
with poetry, prosody, and prose,
the great joy you feel,
as electricity flows through your very being –
she flutters her wings now,
it appears she wants to be wholly seen.
No more scratching among the shrubs and twigs,
no more blending in with the boughs and leaves,
the triumphant beauty of her song
almost brings you weeping, to your knees.
But you’re unable to pay homage to your muse
because your left hand,
primed with pen
is moving erratically, furiously,
injected with the power of thoughts
and their mystical clouds and threads.
What have you created? I wonder.
Is there something amazing across the page?
Your quiet sense of knowing,
the struck inspiration,
running cursive which shall be typed and saved.
And now our beauty flits,
up and away,
we will sit here waiting together
for Sparrow’s next arrival
to inspire you another day.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Oldiefan from Pixabay
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