The birds outside kept me alive

Brown and white bird on tree branch

The birds outside kept me alive


They arrived in groups of two,
bearing humble buildings blocks
of home,
of spring.
I watched.

They shone in winter sunlight,
a symbol of time marching on,
of routine,
of rebirth.
I waited.

They perched just out of reach,
as I wilted in my springtime cage
of anxiety,
of death.
I wept.

They whistled their instructions,
rebuilding their solitary world without fear
of the unknown,
of the future.
I warmed.

Encased in my glass tower
I found the sunlight’s kiss
and dare I say,
I hoped.


Poem by Margaret Wilson


Margaret Wilson is a writer and editor from Pennsylvania. She currently writes for an organic farming nonprofit organization.