High up in the boughs, the nest clung against the winds,
Among the leafless branches that splayed out reaching into emptiness,
Bony fingers stretching out into the winter void.
Desolate in the brumal air, the nest clung, in lonely sorrow,
To the parting in the fork; its twigs in disarray in the air of abandon;
Amidst cracked eggshells and strewn down lining,
The nest was mute, up in the shaking boughs.
Rheumy eyes peered out through scanty lashes,
From behind parted curtains, at the dreary nest
And blinked the eyes at the unshed tear
Gathered in the ducts that dried up so long ago
In the forlorn days, in the wake of partings
When the last vacant room began to reek of unuse and must.
Breath rattled the bony cage when the watcher sighed in gloom
At the void and emptiness left behind in mottled remnants
Of loves lost and lives departed- dusky shadows in the waning glow
Of fading embers and afternoon sun in the empty room behind!
Very descriptive – nice parallel between the literal empty nest and missed family members who have left the home. Keep writing! Liz