last night, the trees

last night, the trees stood up
and proclaimed their poetry
to one another

something in the twilight
inspired them, though not everyone
paused to hear it

but I and the day’s last robin
halted our respective routines
to acknowledge what was clearly
extraordinary

© Sarah Whiteley

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almost spring moon

the insistence of clouds
makes of this a barely moon –
a struggle against
the low skies of winter

and yet yesterday
I watched a robin stridently pipe
his wish for a willing wife
from the top of the power pole

spring, though still disguised
in her winter veil,
emerges from the damp –
shyly purple, in violets

© Sarah Whiteley

bird pieces

the joy of being a bird
must be enormous –
no one else
sings so long

* * *

crow testing my crow-ness
settles beside me
to scold the garbage truck –
my silence fails the test

* * *

first day in May,
jagged bits of sky –
stumbled upon
the first robin’s egg

* * *

© Sarah Whiteley

Not everything I write down becomes a full-fledged poem. But sometimes the fragments are enough to make me happy.