Catching up on yesterday’s Daily Post prompt: Survival.

Photo ©Mike Pennington


On the swaying aerial,

the goldfinch sings.

Notes fall in silver cords,

wrapped in the wind.

Caught in the air, a melody,

mingled with light spots of rain.

Feather fluttering freedom.

We listen in awe and envy

as notes pour relentless as the rain

onto our misunderstanding.

Goldfinch sings,

his sides thin, birdlight,

feathers lacklustre, lice-creeping.

No time to feed,

nestlings take his time, his life,

his head tilts back and forth,

one bright eye on the hawk hovering,

the crow flapping too close to the nest,

and in the shadows of the chimney stacks,

narrow-eyed cats prowl.

Goldfinch sings,

his heart and throat pulsing in time,

no thought but for the lengthening shadows.

All he has left, beneath the cloud-hung heavens,

is his song.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

7 thoughts on “Goldfinch”

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