Birdsong raised to fever pitch,

cacophony almost, the need

to run with covered ears crawling

along her veins, begging her to go

just go! – before she breathes,

notices the flowers, the clichéd

beauty, but it’s there; it’s air

in her lungs, calming balm, song

to soothe her frantic pulse.

A dawn breeze dances across her face

and she walks, embraced by nature,

and determined in her decision.

Crescendoing whispers of traffic

bear witness and applaud.

Advertisements