The Gray Bird’s Bliss

06 Aug

At 30 I envied

As I saw the glitterati

And all the winners of the chase.

And I strove, vainly, to be like them

At least in this little corner

I marked off as the arena

To run my race.


At 40 I despaired

I was not of the elect

But only a nameless face.

A blade of green in an endless field,

A gray bird in a gray tree

Looking sadly at the bright ones

Soaring in space.


At 50 I gave thanks

For my ordinary life

And my plainness I now embrace.

For those whose plumage is the brightest

Will never know the bliss

Of being loved for no reason

Other than grace.



1 Comment

Posted in Poetry


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  1. Joel

    08/12/2013 at 2:19 pm


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