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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=398992" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Of Winged Things (Corona Of Wreathed Quatrains)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I. A yellow weaver</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time and again I see it fluttering<br>a small thing on the gate of the driveway <br>each day stretching, shaking its tiny wings, <br>while it sings, it’s as if I see it play</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to portray a game that just weavers knows, <br>as the breeze blows it is twittering, <br>with feathers shining, quickly out it throws<br>in a own show paws and beak and its wing; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">delighting with feathers yellow and sleek<br>somewhat meek I see it with colours shining, <br>with dogs wining giving me a small peek, <br>in the week I hear a pretty bird sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II. A black-collard barbet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">During the week I hear a pretty bird sing <br>joy it brings to my old stuffy study<br>joy of being free, right where it’s sitting, <br>it sings as if it is singing only to me</div><div style="margin:10px 0">very sublimely it visits me daily<br>in pure glee with a voice quite startling, <br>it sings from early light happy and gaily, <br>in beauty the notes keeps on ringing, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">something happens and one day it is gone, <br>it moves on and I watch until darkness; <br>missing its kindness, I am the only one, <br>on a stone it’s out in the wilderness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III. A thrush</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To bless it is out in the wilderness <br>displaying goodness far from its own nest <br>singing at its best in pure happiness<br>without distress far away from the rest; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">very modest I came upon a thrush<br>in the bush blessing me totally profound, <br>I did it found, in the veldt, deep into the brush, <br>in a holy hush I heard the loveliest sound</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of unbound glory somewhere on a branch, <br>nothing could enhance its beauty on the eye<br>it was shy as on it I did then glance; <br>by mere chance, I heard a jubilant cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV. A singing falcon</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I passed by, I heard a jubilant cry, <br>I felt as if I was very unworthy<br>in serenity it was ringing from the sky, <br>where high up it did fly and came to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Quite free I saw a forlorn bird trembling<br>a shadowing spectre against the blue, <br>reflecting its hue, it was again singing; <br>on a wing notes of its clear voice were true.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sound did subdue, it was wavering, <br>becoming a small thing by its own choice, <br>it had poise with the high hill answering; <br>in spring in nature I heard a quiet voice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V. A bush shrike</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not by choice I heard a very quiet voice, <br>a voice that was soft but still quite sublime<br>in its sheer prime outdoing all human noise, <br>turquoise the sky glowed at that time </div><div style="margin:10px 0">like a perfect rhyme when least expecting it, <br>it did fit in its presence filled with joy, <br>without ploy it sang a song bit by bit<br>high notes it hit as a Godly envoy, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">like a hidden decoy it was singing clearly, <br>it spoke to me, sang directly to the heart, <br>from the start it caught me very early, <br>bringing tranquillity in its joyful art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI. A raven</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Apart from my life of some joyful art<br>in it did dart with a gleaming black coat<br>croaking like a goat, but looking quite smart, <br>it did depart with a sudden screeching note, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">it was remote in the beyond that pleases him<br>getting dim past the old church’s weather vane, <br>like a stain, but my eyes began to swim<br>my sight was slim like a dirty window pane, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I felt inane and at its chosen height<br>almost out of sight against the blue sky, <br>it went by in its strong travelling flight, <br>it might draw me, fluttering it does fly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII A butterfly</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When it is dry, fluttering it does fly, <br>to catch it I try, as it searches nectar, <br>near and far using its curios eye, <br>as a spy or like a wandering star</div><div style="margin:10px 0">going over tar and inspecting tenderly <br>quite free acting with care, acting with grace<br>it does amaze finding a medley, <br>a sanctuary as it goes from place to place</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it’s not commonplace, it’s without anxiety<br>that I see a lovely bright fragile thing, <br>thriving on a special variety<br>with almost piety I see it fluttering.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Gert+Strydom">Gert Strydom</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=398992" data-title="Of Winged Things (Corona Of Wreathed Quatrains) de Gert Strydom" data-description="I. A yellow weaver

Time and again I see it fluttering
a small thing on the gate of the driveway 
each day stretching, shaking its tiny wings, 
while it sings, it’s as if I see it play

to portray a game that just weavers knows, 
as the breeze b..."></div>
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