I plucked a gray-haired thistle head And gave it to the breeze And that which I had thought was dead
Took wing with agile ease;

So do the thoughts of some grown old
We once considered dead
Leap up as on a spirit wind
To soar above our head.


Placidly, so placidly

The river glides along

Joyously, melodiously

The redwing sings his song,

And in the half light's glimmer

My spirit lifts its wings.

More sweetly than that hymner

The bird within me sings.

Gene Pinkney, 1958



Copyright 2006 Gene Pinkney
No portions may be copied without attribution