Jenny Wren

Wren

In a field the artist sat under the shade of an ancient hedgerow,

His study, a ram, of mighty horn stood before him on the hill brow.   

 

He heard birdsong, of age-old tune, coming from behind he,

Before he realised what it was, she’d landed on his right knee.   

 

A tiny wren, of speckled brown plumage looked him in the eye,

He watched as she took off again and flew into the sky.

 

Enraptured by her speedy flight and freedom on the wing,

He watched for hours at her beauty and listened to her sing.   

 

Every day, for weeks he’d go to her field and wait,

And every day she’d come to him, never was she late.   

 

One day he went to see his little speckled brown friend,

She wasn’t there, she didn’t come, he left broken hearted, in the end.   

 

Months passed, he searched and searched, but never was she there,

His little wren of speckled brown plumage wasn’t anywhere.   

 

One day he heard her song as he walked past a garden wall,

He peered over to see two children playing with a ball.   

 

But behind, in a cage of brightest gold, hanging from a hook,

Was his little wren of speckled brown plumage; she met his stolen look.   

 

She cried and cried to see his face and called for him to come,

He waited ‘til the babes had gone, his heart beat like a drum.   

 

He crept into the garden, and looked into her gaol,

She had everything she would ever need in the finest detail.   

 

But she begged him with her pleading eye to release her from this fate,

With trembling hand he opened the cage and freed his little mate.   

 

She soared into the heavens and sang her pretty song,

Landing on his shoulder he knew he didn’t have long...  

 

He snatched her up, returned her, to the little cage of gold,

Before the children returned and caught her in his hold.   

 

She cried and cried to see his face and called for him to come,

He promised to return again and repeat what he had done.   

 

She waited days for him to come and release her to the skies,

But when he does, he clips her wings to restrict how far she flies.   

 

He doesn’t want to steal the pet of the children from the house,

So he teases her with opened doors, confused, conflicted vows.   

 

Gradually he slips away, his visits become much fewer,

She waits and waits for him to come, but soon, never does he meet her.   

 

Eventually she cannot eat. The sadness, it consumes her,

She cannot sing, she cannot fly without her friend beside her.   

 

The tiny wren of speckled brown plumage closed her once bright eye,

Never to look through it again or soar into the sky. 

 



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