VISITOR

each day i sit before the screen
facing a window, this garden of green,
tall trees, birds, and squirrels and bees:
a languor that's nature's idea of peace.

a white sky glows through in patches
offering itself as the muse catches.
my eyes feast and the mind wanders,
delicate pride as a writer ponders!

and through the grandeur of my tale
she flutters to my vision without fail,
sharp-beaked, and as small as my palm;
her simple message shattering my calm.

what does she know, this tiny bird,
the heavenly ring of a single word,
of worlds churned from a writer's mill
as she hops about on my window sill?