By Lacey Gunter
An idea flit flutters on a perch in my mind.
It whispers a tune, soft and faint, but lovely.
If I stop and I strain and I listen, intent,
Sometimes I can coax her to teach me her song.
But I must be quick and pay attention,
Or the melody and details are quickly forgotten.
Try as I may, to cage this rare bird,
She’ll only squawk and cackle when compelled for a song.
Instead I must let her fly free as she may,
With a bird’s eye view of the tangled forest of my mind.
Until once again she finds a nice perch
And her faint sweet tune comes wafting along.
An idea flit flutters on a perch in my mind.
It whispers a tune, soft and faint, but lovely.
If I stop and I strain and I listen, intent,
Sometimes I can coax her to teach me her song.
But I must be quick and pay attention,
Or the melody and details are quickly forgotten.
Try as I may, to cage this rare bird,
She’ll only squawk and cackle when compelled for a song.
Instead I must let her fly free as she may,
With a bird’s eye view of the tangled forest of my mind.
Until once again she finds a nice perch
And her faint sweet tune comes wafting along.
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