Will Parfitt, the publisher of “Into The Further Reaches” has kindly given permission for me to quote the full text of Claudine Whiting Bloomfield’s wonderful poem. The anthology can be bought online from PS Avalon

“The Songbirds”

We are all wounded,
of course we are.
Were it not so
we would all fly
a fantastic fluttering,
and burn up
in a glorious blaze.

But something leadens our wings
and makes us adjust
and dip
away from the glorious sun…
an unexpected current,
a bent feather,
forgotten scar tissue.

And each morning,
despite ourselves
we rise again…
finding a current,
creating a current,
to take us skywards.

And each day we hear
horseshoes clattering on the road
worn a little more
and echoing less
then new again and humming
tin-sharp and quick in the air.

And each day the wind
plays her instruments differently
as the trees grow higher
and the branches bend
a new arc towards the earth.

And so I say,
as you preen your feathers
so straight and perfect,
it is the bent one
that keeps us here
where the symphony is playing.

Claudine Whiting Bloomfield

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