A White parakeet with a pink bill, she
was all things feminine...
The birder's books said she should live
for approximately six months...
But, she sang through my love and devoted
care of her for ten years.
Her pink throat, her morning song to a God
She would weep when I left the house.
Then, one day her neck broke while she was flitting
about the cage, jovial as ever...
The bones simply too old.
Come Day Light, her tiny body cupped
in my palms, regard her still wings and explain
who will sing for either of us soulfully, now.
Blur of white wings, scent like hyacinth then
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Gilda by Romella Kitchens )
- Thief and poet, gajanan mishra
- Go on, Sweet Bird, and Soothe my Care, Robert Burns
- Second Epistle to J. Lapraik, Robert Burns
- The Soldier's Return: A Ballad, Robert Burns
- Epistle to Hugh Parker, Robert Burns
- Everlasting, Cee Bea
- Oh Daisy, Prophmatt . . .
- Versified Reply to an Invitation, Robert Burns
- Suppressed Stanzas of "The Vision&q.., Robert Burns
- mask, Aftab Alam
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