On Hummingbird’s Wings

A hummingbird’s wing
is a whiz of a thing
should you ever get to see him.
They’ll tear through the air
at speed beyond compare
then perch stock still without a tree limb.

I saw one today
as by the window I lay
idly hoping for some poetic spark.
He went down, left, and right,
but what gave me a new insight
was how he suddenly just put it in PARK.

Little guy hung there in space
as that blur of wings whirred apace
his tongue sipping at a red flower.
But it’s what he did next
is why I wrote down this text.
He showed me a magical power.

I saw him fly in reverse,
his wings made my ennui disperse,
and my sour demeanor took flight.
He was no bigger than my finger
but now the sight of him’ll linger
forever on this page of white.

See, the world’s full of blooms,
more than humans have rooms,
and sometimes the muse just stops singing.
So I ceased my staring there,
got up and backed away from that chair,
sipped of nature and with a whir was I winging.

3 thoughts on “On Hummingbird’s Wings

  1. On Saturday, I tried to rescue an injured hummingbird – fed him sweet “gravy” from Marionberry Cobbler diluted with water, which helped revive him a bit. Played hummingbird videos on the screen to entice him, and with what little energy remained in his fragile being, he rose up from my hand and tried to fly with his virtual siblings. He turned his head from time to time, paying close attention to their wings, their chirps, until he could fly no more. Rest in peace, wee hummer.

  2. You know, Helen, I thought I had collected all the keys to my hardened heart years ago. Obviously, I misplaced (or maybe just left behind) one about 40-odd years ago. You always get me…right here. ❤️

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