Hummingbird
The hummingbird thumbs
A flower of thought
In its tongue
Of Indian ink
It sips and spills
A thousand souls
Before it spills
Its own,
And piercing the wind
Like a mountain peak
With the weaving
Of a soul to keep;
This little bird brings us
Sweet pressed blooms
To incense us for hours
In the glory of love
Poetry by M Heathcote
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Written on 2007-02-27 at 01:34
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by M Heathcote Latest texts"7"autumn haikuDust of my black wings A poetic exile A flower cut from desire In the froth of life My favoritesMy Secret |
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