Nancy L. Meek
A TIME TO SING
When a bird calls to me from the trees
and leans his head in a listening way,
I don’t continue hanging clothes
on sunny lines I’ve yet to fill,
and pretend I didn’t hear the entreating.
No, not as long as there’s time to sing.
I drop my sheet with my wash day woes
wherever they care to fall,
and smile, turn my head toward the call
and echo back his greeting.
©Copyright 1997 by Nancy L. Meek