The hummer is a precious gift.
Lighter than an ounce with feathers,
gowned in glittering and iridescent
robe, rubies red at its neck, it hovers
and hums through life.
Some call them sacred
as they pause above fragrant
altars of time, sipping
the essence of life through
the straw of their long beaks,
mining the nectar of love
from the depths
of each blossom’s throat.
Wilted flowers call for more
than the water of tears.
Raging fires are not quenched,
drop by drop.
Hummers gently lead us
in our own liberating dance,
teaching us how—
How to see light,
how to heal.
How to do all
that we can.
How to hum.
* * *
Hummingbird — In Memoriam. For Margot Larson, whose enjoyment in life at this time of year was sitting in her garden patio, waiting for the hummingbirds to come. Hummingbird photo and poem by Mary O’Connor © 2016
Beautiful Mary ! Both picture and poem.
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Thanks!
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