The Silent Sword
Ten years I’ve lived in this house of mine,
Annually watching the cold decline,
Observing spring’s pervading green,
And meeting again a bird benign.
It sings so soft a song serene,
On a branch high up unseen.
I listen closely in my yard,
Until it lands ten feet between.
Although I’m just a peaceful bard,
It stares at me with keen eyes hard.
It hops and pecks across the grass,
Mending that which had been marred.
As season shifts its actions amass
A truth transparent, clear as glass.
All things will come and pass,
All things will come and pass.
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