Poem...Of Some Sort

A bird with green feathers
Was waiting
Waiting for something to happen
As her small feet shuffled
And her wings trembled 
On the soft-skinned palm
Of a human hand

The hand kept still,
Completely statue,
Afraid it would lose what it was holding
But a pulse was still pumping
Inside each little finger
Quickening ever so slightly
When it felt the tree shiver

The tall oak held the child
In it's wind-shaken arms
And though it was wise and strong
It answered to another master:
The creek by it's roots

The creek bubbled in laughter
At the tickling of the green moss
At it's bottom
Feeling powerful and life-giving
As it flowed into the mind
Of the sleeping boy

A dreaming boy
Lay fast asleep,
The rivers of his mind
Flowing with imagination
So peaceful, moving in only
Small spurts:
A twitch of the thumb,
A hint of a smile.

In a flurry of green feathers,
A bird spread it's wings
And fluttered off

And a boy woke