White Crane

I do not consider myself to be a poet. I have friends and family who are great poets. I read their work in awe. How do they do that? I wonder, find a way with words that open whole new worlds for me. I struggle with poetry.  And so I’m always surprised when I find myself being poetical. And yet, once in a while, something happens…

A white crane stands in the water,

   sees me

      and waits ‘til I’ve had my fill of his beauty.

Slowly, so slowly he lifts

and spells himself across the sky.

Born aloft,

   a part of my spirit goes with him

         forever.