by Sasha Brelinsky

I suppose writing is in the blood here in Brelinskyville. My daughter, Sasha Terese, wrote this poem recently for a poetry contest being held at our local library.

Bird Song

Up in a tree,
on his brown seat,
out of his throat,
comes a soft tweet.

The sounds echo ’round,
deep, soft, high, low,
enjoyed by all those,
standing down below.

A soft white feather,
a flash of brown,
a hint of red,
as singer flies ’round.

And every Summer day,
he gives us his song,
he tweets through it all,
no matter how long.

His job is to praise,
Him Who made he,
gave him his voice,
and feathers to see.