ONE

Lone myna
perched on the power line
turning his feet
west to look over
the cows and egrets
in the dewy field,
turns east to watch
gray clouds hang 
on the mountains.

The wind chime
ting-ting-bangs
and the myna
beats his white tipped wings
to fly north.
Shortly, he returns
to perch again.

Our lives are like the myna,
we watch the good and evil,
try not to judge.
We fly in a different direction
only to return home--
all our patterns
keep repeating.

    What do you dream for yourself and the world?  Can you write your own poem today about one of your dreams?  Have fun writing.


I am reminded, big dreams often start as little ones.