A thrush steps through the fallen leaves
With gracefulness and care,
Then stops to cast a dreamy glance
And shyly lingers there.
Her breast's adorned with misty spots
That fade from taupe to buff –
She flies up to an aspen's branch
To call her "chuff", "chuff", "chuff"...
November 2020
(from the book Longing For The Light by Doris Potter)
© Doris Potter












