Wind Bells

Baby hair glides from the skies,
lingering fingers marking the last movement
of the stroke of a harp
blending scurries of air
with a whistling C sharp

melodies chime from tidbits
of shells and stone tied in concert
by membrane and invisible wings
coining sounds that
mirror songs of kings

Signs of dawn cry the kings
And the cherry red cardinal sings
Through gates of meadows
the mind’s eye swings

Reviews

[.]

i revel your muse!
wondering though, if there might be a better substitute for baby?.. maybe?..

[spider]

quite right