THE SONGBIRD SELLER ALONG THE QUAY
Every morning I pass by her along the quay,
Beside a table stacked with small wooden cages,
Each holding a songbird brightly chirping away,
Amidst the booksellers scrabbling for their wages,
Sitting erect with her soft hands placed in her lap.
In the mornings, “Bonjour,” in the evenings “Bonsoir.”
Draped around her thin shoulders a worn, woolen wrap.
In an angelic voice from some heavenly choir,
Singing an aria, the sweet sound crystalline,
Beautiful like one of the songs of her caged birds,
Smooth and delicate like a rich, velvety wine.
But I must be on my way to peddle my words.
One morning I pass by but she’s nowhere to be seen.
A young man selling jewelry stands now in her place.
Surprised that in my heart I feel her loss so keen,
Full of tender sadness, yet a smile on my face.
Gone somewhere the songbird seller along the quay,
I believe to her sweet dreams she has flown away.
(PoeticMeditations © 2017. All rights reserved.)