MAY 6, 2020: HARPER’S SIXTH BIRTHDAY
By Jens Kruse

The broadleaf maples are in their spring glory,
the wild cherries are in full bloom,
black-headed grosbeaks are perched in them
waiting for their turn at the feeder.

Twice today a bald eagle flew high
above the trees,
gliding — its wings still,
its white head and tail
glinting in the sun —
in large circles,
looking down.

I wish I could fly like an eagle,
could look down
on you, Harper,
in your yard, as you turn six.
But I can’t.

But that mockingbird
looking at you
from the tree
behind your house,
singing this song
for your birthday,
imagine, Harper,
that that’s me,
your Opa.

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