Poetry by Jael
by jael bietsch

Not farblown clouds rolling off
the sea, cold and loud, weak sun or wind
rolling in the trees, skittering leaves falling
in the streets, nor earthbound
crickets that chirrup from ground.
But brave and tender hearts
day would fool
as march and band starts
and teacher knows this is school.

Not wind or whistle trill
that wings with those
that must fly,
sharp music sweet and shrill
that fools freest hearts
can make grown girls cry.
But the brown bird small
and falling, dropping
from cold that is sky.
The band is stopping and starts.
but teacher is whistling and calling
she knows this is school.

Leaves that skitter in streets, wind
tossed and ripped from sky,
crickets that chirrup and cry,
sweet music dwindles and dies.
Foolish hearts think they can fly.
This bird is small and brown with white
down and frightened
black eyes. I would touch him but
he flutters and starts.
I would cup this small dream in my hand
and feel the fluttering beat of the sky.
But the teacher knows this is school
and her lesson is calling
me down.

Even as leaves take wind, pulling
for farthest blown bough, and clouds,
loud and rolling, sky-borne and bound
for sea, sun is ever falling,
chilled by the cold dream of the sky.
And when brown bird, brave, tender
heart, finds wings
and follows my eyes, ascending
to his home that is sky,
I will know the secret of sky as I know
the pull of ground.

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    ©: 1995 Jael Bietsch

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    March 8, 2000