Veronica

No one planted bluebird boxes along the grassy edge. Yet they flutter here. First five, then six alight on the Warner graveyard stone. Dappled sunshine filters through the poplar tree nearby caressing their brilliant azure coats. I speak aloud to them. “Come visit me in yonder years. I’ll be just around the bend near that slender silver birch. Bring your children by to warble quietly above my sleeping head.”