Fulfilment
I dreamed he sang,
my little bird,
the sweetest song
I ever heard;
that in the night
his silent throat
had loosed its bands
of silver mote
in flaming tones
that woke the dark
and dimmed the stars’
immortal spark.
He climbed the throne
of death, my bird,
on wings of song
life never stirred.
Evelyn Coffey
Evelyn said that she wrote this the morning that she woke and found her bird had died. What a gift she had of healing her experiences this way, of transforming loss to victory.
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