I have re – written Jane Taylor’s Violet, adapting this poem of mine – (my little bird thing) originally written years ago, as part of my first published anthology; with just a few twists here.
Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
No colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.
Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.
My Little Bird Thing
As I was going to the stairs
My steps were steep, slow and still
I saw a little bird thing sly
It perched at my door space
Little lad asked, as in wonder I stare
The sunshine that pervades my snare
Do you want it stay?
It’s beautiful, it’s charming and sweet
It glitters in my eyes so
Its colours a thing of joy to say
How stiff it is, my heart sings
To have it stay and go no long speed
I admire not the fliers, he stood in striding strew
See it fly, whispered something
In the empty space above it swims
Where you can never see
Will I ever catch it smile?
For the colours in my eyes will not seize
So if you please, I may stray
Sparkly purple, heads on silvery spots
In black and white the body is stripped
The tail fan out with grey so sleek,
White, black and shining sapphire
Will it go forever and I am sombre?