My Bird

I couldn’t wait to meet my singing bird
As she ran along the corrugated leaf
I couldn’t bear to see her fed
But with everything, my hard earned sheaf
I could wait, under the dark dank shed
That she may fit into my eyes leafy miff if
I couldn’t wait.

I couldn’t wait to see my crying bird
As she sat atop the kitchen cliff
I couldn’t wait to see divinity in wed
Longing for some warmth of our laugh
I could wait, not for her tickling word
For my heart would break and thread the if if
I couldn’t wait.

I couldn’t wait to see a hungry third
Keeping watch like a welcoming chef
I couldn’t wait to lap my pen, quill-feathered
A fossil, not stone-age stiff
I could wait, as the spirit guard
Ran a race that must, if
I couldn’t wait.

by Emmanuel Ibuot

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