Hummingbird

My flower started humming—
through beats of wings.

I saw it wilting slowly—
but, now it sings.

I run to the window,
to see my lively bloom—
magically fluttering—
escaping doom.

I hope I am so lucky,
when I do pass—
that God would trip to see me,
through his glass.

………………………………………………………………
Copyright ©2005 Robert Fulton Laird
Website: www.flatsongs.com

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