Constant Motion Poem by Sandra Feldman
Constant Motion
The Humming bird,
That minuscule feathered thing,
The size of a flower,
With beauty that towers,
Wings tiny that sing.
It's made up of colors,
Was born to be free
In perpetual motion,
A joy, just to see.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: bird
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5/14/2024 9:19:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
You capture the spirit and beauty of those tiny birds..lovely a ten..