Rain Crow by Bruce Mundhenke

She sits on a  nest
In a small tree,
Unmoving; except for a sometime
Blink of an eye.
Her whole purpose now
Is to ensure that the eggs beneath her
Will bring forth more of her kind.
My dad told me he called doves rain crows,
Whenever he was a small boy,
Maybe he thought their sad song
Brought the rain
That kept him from playing outside,
But the rain crow I'm watching is silent,
She won't sing for quite some time,
But after her babies
Fly from the nest,
Whenever I hear her rain song again,
It will probably cause me to smile.






Bruce Mundhenke has worked as a laborer and a registered nurse. He enjoys nature and reading and writing poetry. He lives in Illinois with his wife and their dog and cat.

Treasure by Bruce Mundhenke

He had a treasure box

He kept in his room,

But few

Could say what was inside.




In it were things

Of value to him,

He collected

During his life.




One day a thief

Took it away,

To find little

Of value inside.




Mere reminders

Of treasure he kept

In his heart,

That no thief ever could find.



















Bruce Mundhenke enjoys nature, reading, and writing poetry. He has published poems in several online publications. He lives in Illinois with his wife and their dog and cat.