Atticus Finch

Somtimes I wander and wonder at the wonder, 

and the winter is the wonder that I wander through and wonder on...  

Tip the copper kettle over, hear! the whistle is no more,  

Boiled long forgotten over, pour and more and more to pour.  

I've wandered through this winter wonder, wandered broad afield today, 

and as I wandered this I pondered, where the fair did go to play.

A tiny red-head sits beside me, whistles tiny songs to me,  

A tiny red-head sits until he flits and floats back to his tree.  

I think I've seen the last of summer.  Winter's here, this now I'm sure.  

Sometimes I wander for the wonder,

like the winter wonder that I wandered through today...




Scott has encouraged me to keep up with my writing lately and I jotted this down as I was shooting pictures of this little finch outside our house today in the decay of the garden.  I don't particularly like to write "nature" poetry and I'm not a big fan of the Pastorals.  However, I thought this little piece fit with my photo of my Finchy friend and wasn't brave enough to start anywhere else in the public forum just yet.....