The five o'clock birds have come again
to visit in the holly bush outside my window.
I am at peace to watch them grow their feathers out against the cold
to hear them talk their talk in tones and whistles;
to remember that all my anxious lists,
fretting breaths, fervent dreams
can stand behind me for a while.
I shake my hands away from doing;
away from conversation and demand
and lay them in my lap as I wonder in awe and worship in rest.
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