Poetry Friday

Ah, Spring!
by Barbara J. Turner

I heard a bird today.
Just one.
It chirped three bright notes
then fluttered on,
perhaps wondering
about the cold and snow,
the hanging ice,
or did it know
its internal clock
was a bit askew, out of whack?
Did it fly away,
turn back
to warmer climes?
Or does it sit
at another window,
chirping just a bit
before moving on
yet again,
announcing spring,
and winter’s end?

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