A labour of love
Built with offerings of those dearest to me.
The lining of my son’s abandoned toys has
become bedding to warm the tender bellies of fledglings.
The spun gold of my wife’s brushed hair
cast from the window for the birds
now binds curving walls with a burnished strength.
My frayed garden twine, used to nurture
blooms to delight my dearest
has become fierce struts to withstand hilltop winds.
All interweaved, found blown on to our leafy drive.
The cherished ones having flown the nest.
Now, more than ever, I miss our birds,
With their lives interwoven with our own.
© Tom Tide 2016