Another reading of Anchor Mejans words and a personal favourite. I have visted this house and found this letter.

I left this take ungated as the space between the lines seemed relevant.

Language Of Birds
by Anchor Mejans

On the wall in your bedroom
An antique etching framed
‘twas of the sea… a bright moon…on the wane.
An island resting in the inky night…’rose from a sea of foam
a distant flock of birds in flight…
made one feel…quite alone.

After the winter
And your quiet retreat
When the Spring had melted
All the snow on your street…
And a mourning dove cried on the garden lawn
I found your letter and knew you’d gone….

“Dear Tom,
How often have you heard my words?
I hear the language of the birds…
How, like them, I needed to be let out of the cage.”
There was a little drawing on the second page…
A tiny sketch of the sea and the moon…
And island floating in a graphite night…
Your signature in curly-Q’s
Like a flock of birds in flight….