I never saw one, growing up
Such an impossibly tiny thing
But here it hovers, eight floors high
In a garden meant to heal with distractions
Overlooking a summer canopy of green
A park planted in memoriam of a forest
Four floors above that we try to sleep
Through sirens, nurses, IVs, crying
So we travel down to this open air oasis
They tell us we can visit anytime
During certain hours, with a doctor’s note
We retreat here, after that sad rave in the MRI
With its pulsing, painful EDM beats
We join our little friend for its lunch
Doctors read your blood like tea leaves
Study the runes in your brain
Finally, your ring of shamans pronounces:
MOGAD, as if we were in middle earth
But your new fellowship chose another name
More befitting your indefatigable heart
Down the elevator, back to our safe space
Search for gnome homes, sculptured reptiles
Slowly walk the rubber paths, flower to flower
Meander swift courses traced above our heads
Follow, but not too closely, not too soon,
My little hummingbird
About the Creator
Shaun Walters
A happy guy that tends to write a little cynically. Just my way of dealing with the world outside my joyous little bubble.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.