Tiny Strength

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A solitary summer eve;

my world is hushed as fading sun

tucks itself into a bed of lavish green;

alone, I feel the starkness of the

coming night, the sudden stab of

fear to be, perhaps, unseen,

unheard in depth of coming

dark; and then he calls, my tiny wren,

pensive atop his shadowed post;

he, too, alone in fading light, alone but

singing yet against his fear, his song so

clear and bright, his piping strong and

bold, an evensong to chase away the

murk of night; and as he sings, the

ghostly edge of dark begins to fade; the

air around me breathes more peacefully;

and so do I.

2 thoughts on “Tiny Strength

  1. Thanks for this “evensong to chase away the murk of night.” Ron and I rarely hold each more closely than when darkness closes in around us in our isolated Maine hideout. It is the loons who sing to us. Or is it,tonight, the howl of a coyote? Shiver…

    Thanks for last Fri.

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