“My voice has lost its rasp” by Leslie Lippincott Hidley

My voice has lost its rasp,
Bolt fallen from its hasp,
My claw ungripped my grasp,
My hold has been let go,
There’s nothing more to know,
It’s not my fault and so
I’ll do as I am told.
I’m docile to the heart;
I mind whatever I should do
And raise my wings apart.
The air wafts me aloft.
It loves the way I fly.
We play together, air and me
And tumble in the sky.

Leslie Lippincott Hidley has been writing prose and poetry for her own amusement and that of her family and friends and others for most of her 73 years. And one of her ten grandchildren is named Kalliope. She has lived in Walla Walla, Washington; Frankfurt and Bremerhaven, Germany; Upper New York State; Enid, Oklahoma; Montgomery and Prattville, Alabama; Lubbock, Texas; Dover, Delaware; West Palm Beach, Florida; Goose Bay, Labrador; Washington, D.C.; Fairfield, California; Omaha, Nebraska; and now resides in Ojai (Nest-of-the-Moon), California, where she continues to write.