Waiting

Sitting at my desk pondering

Searching for inspiration

No muse comes to my aid

Then a singing from outside

Through my open window

I see a white-breasted bird

Perching high on a tree branch

Brushing the eaves of my house

Alone it chirps cheerfully

The whole sky is its stage

Off and on sings the little soul

At ease in its own tempo

On the roof of the house

Crouches a stone-still cat 

Its orange fur turns glittering gold

Basking in the late afternoon sun

The feline stares at the bird

While it sings unknowingly

I watch the progression

Prepare to stop a tragedy

By Shih-Fang Wang

From: United States