The Dipper

The Dipper

The Dipper

It was winter, near freezing,

I’d walked through a forest of firs

when I saw issue out of the waterfall

a solitary bird.

It lit on a damp rock

and, as water swept stupidly on,
wrung from its own throat
supple, undammable song.
It isn’t mine to give.
I can’t coax this bird to my hand
that knows the depth of the river
yet sings of it on land.

— Kathleen Jamie, author of Waterlight

T.S. Poetry

One thought on “The Dipper

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  1. LOVE this! When I was visiting Oregon, I searched and searched the rocks at Silver Falls, but I never did see one. Saw plenty of “dipper doo,” but no actual dipper. 😦 It’s still on my list of birds I’d love to see someday, and this poem is beautiful! Thanks!

    Liked by 1 person

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