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Hope Everding Apr 2014
The sky seamstress is so mercurial
She can never decide on a finished work
Starting with a vast, blank blue canvas
The raw cotton floats into view
When its fibers are stretched
Into thin, wispy veils,
It's a sign
She will soon weave a grey, woolen blanket
Whether her customers enjoy the darkened drizzle
or not
Or perhaps, she is frustrated with a mistake
A missing stitch, not enough fabric?
Throwing a clumped draft aside in rage
Only for it to grow and twist
Instead of releasing a simple drear,
It could house destruction
But, the sky seamstress is mercurial
She will brush away the failure
And begin the cycle again.
Hope Everding Apr 2014
The blackbirds buzzing
O'er a newly woken marsh
Should've brought a coat
Hope Everding Apr 2014
Peevishness is an indigo plant
How could it not be peevish?
It's supposed to be green
How is it absorbing sunlight?
Where is the chlorophyll?
How is this happening?
This isn't what is supposed to happen
What the heck will its flowers look like?
Will THEY be green?
What creature would eat or pollinate
An INDIGO PLANT?
A manticore? A kelpie?
...
Calm down, indigo plant
You have a purpose for being this way
Let it be
Hope Everding Apr 2014
I've never asked how you felt
About being watched
Some of us humans will
Travel great distances
Just to catch a glimpse
How do you feel about this?

Is it a bother, perhaps
That a clunky, binocular-toting creature
Is trundling ungracefully through your home?
Your domestic life
Needs no prying eyes

Or could it be an honor?
You merely inherited
The feathers, the songs
And you're loved for it

Perhaps you are indifferent?
You pay them no heed,
Since they do not pose a threat
To your food or family
While they stand around and stare vacantly

Maybe it depends
If you were a sparrow happily whistling,
Or a bunting bachelor finding a suitor,
Or a warbler that had a REALLY bad day
Since her baby turned out to be a cowbird?
Or a goose whose patience runs thin
As the screaming human-chicks keep chasing it?

If you could take up a pen,
Or a quill, since you have many,
I would love for you
To get back to me
So at least I could respect your wishes

— The End —