YELLOW
What I can’t forget is the sound
of that yellow warbler. Up and up
we climbed Wasatch Mountain,
poolings of snow lingering
in the shadowed valleys.
In the quiet along the riverbank
we did not speak.
Cupping our hands,
drinking the sweet alpine snowmelt,
the wind slipped through poplars,
and that warbler song echoed in the canyon.
Years later, I still hear it, that colorful sound,
and think of that day upstream,
those chalk-white poplars,
high mountain wind.
c. 2017, B. L. Bruce
Award-winning author of The Weight of Snow and The Starling’s Song
2014 International Book Awards Finalist in the Poetry Category
2014 San Francisco Book Festival Honorable Mention Recipient in the Poetry Category
2014 USA Best Books Awards Finalist in “Poetry” Category
2017 Pacific Rim Book Festival Award Honorable Mention (Poetry Category)
Bri Bruce Productions 
I can see it and hear it 🙂
A lovely poem. Simple yet deep.
Beautiful poetry…! Thanks for sharing.