I weep for your wound, little red breast.You came to the muddy place,
to gather grass to build your nest.
I watched you through glass,
delighting in your efforts,
as you left and came back again.
In my absence, suddenly, without warning,
claws contained you for a brief moment.
You struggled, finally breaking free,
leaving behind a scattering of feathers & down.
When I found them later, I wept and worried for your sake.
Remembering then, that not a sparrow shall fall that heaven does not know.
Heaven and I wept for your suffering, even as I looked to the
tree where your foundation lies.
Fly away from the muddy place, it won't hold or harm you again.
Fly to fulfill your purpose and be free.
There are nests to build, babies to raise, and songs to be sung.
"All through its life there will be drama...
the drama of life and its beauty"...~~Gwen Frostic
