- The Little Bird
- His wing was wrong, flipped backwards,
His beak was bent and half torn.
And the pedestal he perched upon,
Was wrinkled, creased and worn.
My mother took care as she lifted,
That hideous sight to observe,
And placed up high on our mantle,
My first little paper bird.
There, with my childhood trinkets,
Sat proudly, a wrinkled white dove,
There too, with my makings and memories,
Was my Mother's encouraging love.
As a special bonus for my 200th blog post, I give you this poem today as introduction to my Pay it Forward challenge. I kind of like blog games, and this one is more productive than most. Here are the rules:
- Leave a comment on my blog that says you want to play. The first three people to comment (and more if you're nice) will get a gift from me. (Make sure I know how to get it to you -- send me your address if I don't know it already)
- Do the same thing on your blog. The first three folks who leave a comment and commit to doing this on their blog too, will get a surprise from YOU.
As I was looking for a poem about origami, I stumbled across a book called Fold Me a Poem. Though this poem isn't from that book, I really liked the following quote by the author:
- I was also struck by the similarity between poetry and origami — how a few spare words, carefully chosen, can bring a scene to life, and how a few small folds, artfully made, can bring a sheet of paper to life.