George Freek… Hymn



I hear a blue jay scream
from a nearby tree.
His mate believes
they are hosannas,
thrilled by such a
sweet melody.
Perhaps it resembles
what we call poetry.
I can’t see a breeze,
but I feel it as it
ruffles the leaves.
My wife is dead,
but I feel she’s beside me,
when I return to bed.
I can’t say I know.
I only pray it is so.


Copyright © 2016 by George Freek