Annalise Wellman

Golden-bellied oriole,
Dawned in ebony armor,
To protect his angelic wings,
Sits in cypress thrones,
And heeds my stranger’s gaze-
Frosted shoulders ruffled like mink,
Melting into the setting sun’s dandelion ink,
Royal must he be-
For as he opens his obsidian beak,
He sings his solemn soliloquy,
Tales of characters whom he has met,
Lost lovers and retired friends-
Of far forgotten voyages,
And fantastical foreign lands-
Of the present journey,
With no known end-
His songs trails into the evening blush,
Bidding a pleasant farewell,
Taking leave with a hush-
To the stone of eternity,
His song will flow,
Forever just within reach,
Forever a little ways to go,
Onward into the setting Sun,
Flies his feathery robe,
Little, lovely king of gold.

~Annalise Wellman