26 November 2017

Quiet November Sunday

by Tess Gallagher

I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain.  But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don't cut that one.
I don't cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest
where a mountain
would be.


Bonny said...

This may be one of the best yet! Thanks for the introduction to another poet that makes me want to read more.

Mereknits said...

Gorgeous words. Happy Sunday.

Kym said...

Beautiful! Like Bonny, I'm off to find more. XO

Nance said...

This poem reminds me of my father very, very much.

AsKatKnits said...

I am with Bonny and Kym! Wonderful poem!

Araignee said...

And that is why every time The Mister and I seriously talk about clearing some trees from around the house-we don't.

karen said...

beautiful poem, thank you for sharing it with us.