(Barkman photo)

For this child I prayed . . . (I Sm 1:27)
September Psalm
The brood has grown up and gone,
their song but silent memory
upon a barren landscape.
The nest is hollow now, and empty,
tempting sudden tears
at sight of broken shells.
The constant rounds of feeding, teaching,
the reaching for the skies
is now for them to choose.
Their leaving marks a season,
the reason I hold
a downy feather to the Wind.

By Alma Barkman

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