Saint Francis stands with casual guard
holding a bird in the right hand
the left cupped in a protective gesture
holding a smooth white rock
a granddaughter put there
five years ago, she shorter then
than Francis, the stone forgotten now
Some how the body waits
for life to warm and soften
sun and rain doing their part
Yet we do turn to stone
when we no longer heed
the flap of bird’s wing
trying to soar from our hand.

-Melva Sue Priddy