Pink Cranes

Pink cranes come from under fingers,
as by your small working table I linger,
telling stories of traveling and writing,
that fly off into skies split with lightening.

I marvel at your skill and ease in creating
and wonder at the stack of paper waiting.
You tell tales mysterious and enlightening,
that fly off into skies split with lightening.

Some creations are sold, some given away
to the many children who pause on their way.
They are in a hurry like birds on the wing,
that fly off into skies split with lightening.

Pink cranes come from under fingers,
that fly off into skies split with lightening.