Bring Down the Babies
by Charlotte Hamrick
Morning.
Quiet as church.
Out on the grass thousands
of feathers like blankets
of snow.
The day drifted, gliding
on white doves and hymns,
a bazaar of voices
opening doors.
Bring down the babies.
Mother stood, face and palms
skyward.
Above ancient branches
the wind whirls, a wonderland of birds
flying wild.
Visually beautiful.
"The day drifted, gliding
on white doves and hymns"
Nice!
*
[Bring down the babies.--quotes? italics? something to set off that line?]
what is "porm"?
So beautiful and precise, C. xo
This one is wild and serene at the same time. Mysterious, too.**
Erika, Bill, Rachna, Nonnie, thanks so much for reading and commenting. I so appreciate it.
Bill, that's my iPad talking. Apparently it wants something wilder than a flock of birds. *Insert Oh No! emoji*
Sweet and smart.
Thais, Gary!
A scene to remember.*
Good God--beautiful.
"a bazaar of voices
opening doors."
Wow. The whole thing cinematic and grand.
Tim, Darryl, Jill, thanks so much for reading and your kind comments.
This is gorgeous though I am not sure I understand it but what's to understand when "Above ancient branches / the wind whirls...". ***
Ah......love it
Thanks so much Marcus and Kitty