The Big Little Birdie

All I hear through the songs In that rhythmic tempo out of your lungs Your woeful mourning and sorrow Your elegiac speech of morrow The same old lines in despair When you sing the notes and share The scented lyrics of lilacs Your frolic is sometimes lissome sometimes lax And those pop songs in mania The isolated rhythm in echolalia Your big heart pumping hard Being entrapped hitting itself all around Your gasping soul sweats Still the same melody comes out of thy chest Don’t shout; don’t even squeeze your scratched heart It’s still the same song Still people enjoy thy twittering When you are hung! Come and be calm on my arm And I will play your song and will be your balm Dazzle at my eyes with thy shiny eyes Still I enjoy this line when it says: “Drink to me, only with thine eyes.”