The Visit

A sound sleep ends with sounds of wings and tiny crashes of small things; my eyes roam round the room to search the scene, and soon I know it’s not a dream. And then the wings take flight again from bedroom out the door; I get right up and follow it, still nervous to the core. The next door room is my small den that’s always warm and bright, so easy is it now to see the stranger that took flight. Upon a tiny lamp, dim lighted is a shade, and thereupon my eyes could see a tiny bird, afraid. I slowly moved towards him, while keeping down my pace, and he seemed calm as one could be, in such a foreign place. With index finger as a post, I raised it to his feet; his eyes looked on at every move and never missed a beat. And then he calmly hopped upon the post, gave out a quiet beep, and seemed to trust his host he wakened from a sleep. I then walked towards my terrace door with birdie hanging on, and stepped outside real slow, not causing an alarm. Outside, he gave out with a few more chirps and I expected flight, but my new friend seemed quite at ease, and reluctant to take flight. I had the nerve to move my lips close up to his small beak, and he stayed put, and gave a gentle peck to me upon my cheek. And then with that he took to flight and headed on his way, and so enchanted was I then, I kneeled right down to pray. I thanked the Higher Power up above for all the birds that fly, and ended prayer that mystic day still focused on the sky.

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Warren P Padla

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majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
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