Twiglet #4 prompt by Marilyn Braendeholm
The sky was pearly blue chiffon
draped behind bare limbs of oak
when we met by accident that day.
You singing on a grey-brown twig
an aria as the wind teased a tender
tune. I sat on a mossy mound
spell-bound by each melodious trill.
Awful silence when you winged away
that’s left me yearning for your encore.