Apology To A Wren (43)

//Apology To A Wren (43)

Apology To A Wren (43)

To the wren I disturbed,
Asleep in the porch eaves,
Bundled snug beneath
A November pumpkin moon,

I’m sorry, little bird,
To send you scrambling
Against a white, wooden sky
With frantic, futile resolve.

You ignored the open squares
Of night all around,
As though you were blind
To the darkness itself—

Freedom too spacious,
Too expansive, convinced that
What you could not see
Surely must not be.

By | 2019-11-25T10:59:23-05:00 November 18th, 2019|Farm|2 Comments

About the Author:

Forrest Pritchard is a full-time sustainable farmer and New York Times bestselling author, holding a BA in English and a BS in Geology from William & Mary. Smith Meadows, his farm, was one of the first “grass finished” operations in the country, and has sold at leading farmers’ markets in the Washington DC area for two decades. Pritchard's books have received starred reviews from The Washington Post, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, NPR, and more.

2 Comments

  1. Anna November 20, 2019 at 4:24 pm - Reply

    Wow, I love this one. Poor little guy!

    • Forrest Pritchard November 25, 2019 at 7:48 am

      Right? I’d wager we can all empathize.

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