From my window, a tree stands tall,
arid as it may seem,
alluring still are its limbs
to the lone passerines.
One by one, they gather near,
and in symphony, they sing.
Their presence, though small,
voices a chorus
that wakes me from my trance.
Soon after, they fly elsewhere,
flitting from branch to branch—
as if on cue, they perch upon a different tree
to delight another’s window view.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 1:12 AM UTC
From my window, a tree stands tall,
arid as it may seem,
alluring still are its limbs
to the lone passerines.
One by one, they gather near,
and in symphony, they sing.
Their presence, though small,
voices a chorus
that wakes me from my trance.
Soon after, they fly elsewhere,
flitting from branch to branch—
as if on cue, they perch upon a different tree
to delight another’s window view.
