Monday, March 02, 2009

#376: Songbird

At first I couldn't find him; branches crossed
each other like the shadowed edge of pen
and ink drawings, the wind would blow, and then
in rattling leaves his music would be lost
till calm returned, and like a ghost he'd take
the melody again--the pipe and trill
and once martial and mournful--thus he'd fill
the woods with music only he could make.

Yet still invisible--I strained my ear
and eye in fruitless search of him, so long
I'd nearly given up; but then he changed
the tune to one of joy, so brave and clear
I picked him out--gray, feathers disarranged,
and barely big enough to hold his song.

No comments: