The Wren’s Song

On the rare occasion

That I find myself

On the other side of the world

I am reminded of

The power of home

And all the little familiar things

That have gnawed and wedged themselves

Into me without my noticing

A Carolina Wren singing from my garden

In the cool of the morning

The gnats tickling my ears and nose

As I sweat out the heat of the day

The green, rolling land arcing

To the horizon

Pebbly dirt, sandy loam

Over red clay

Slow, muddy water

And the birds, always

The birds

Singing the land alive, hidden in the trees

I can hear all of this

Better, in its absence

Giving rhythm to the only life I know

And the deep longing rises up

An ache soothed only by

The scent of pine needles

Heavy night air

And the song of the Carolina wren

In the cool of the morning


©2019 Lenny Wells

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