Winging Home

by
Abbott Small

Two robins,
workers of the word,
dip into the well of song,
wet small beaks,
cross over
snow on the mountain,
pass above
two deer and a bear,
and head for a rainbow
by a dome in the clear.
Home. Among the yellows
and golds and orange shades,
the purples in the deep
drape of the sky,
they fly with firewings,
untiring, soft,
rested finally, as made,
in God and His Company,
in a deep, still shade.


Copyright 1997 by Abbott Small. All Rights Reserved.