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Wren

house wren

Who sees the wren,

sees god.’  –it’s true.

But first you hear

sweet sounds

of stream, at play,

with stones and sand,

the laughter of the god.

 

Only then you see

the tiny form,

the bird, the god.

Trill shakes

the angled tail,

song eternal,

leaves shudder to alert

the hawk,

another god, another sound.

 

Poetry: Sarah Fuhro   Photo: Robert Fuhro

 

 

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