Popinjay

 

The popinjay, with flowers in his beak,

drops them everywhere. Strewn 

lilac and lilies, the bringer of the 

cherry blossom season—and then –

 

Wilting in the winter, limping along.

Someone has crushed this pink rose

into a million pieces—someone's hand

was too strong, was wielded indelicately.

 

The popinjay, with flowers in his beak,

drops from the sky. Little love, little bird,

gone now, holding black roses in his beak.

He's covered over by autumn's gold leaves.

 

Hannah Morris-Voth has been a guest editor for the Inlandia Institute, is presently an editor with The Aster Review, and a writer for Chasing Shadows Magazine. Her poetry is soon to appear in Voices, Juniper Literary Magazine, and Honey Fire Literary Magazine. She is currently working on her first poetry pamphlet.