The Spell

Now comes the time when the lilac blooms Call the hummingbird to suck Dancing on wind, the acrobat grooms The eye, the boy is out of luck For he cannot shoot this bird. The sling Falls like Icarus, melted by wonder Of the beautiful bird on magical wing. I came not to praise but to plunder, To find some mountain dove or quit To kill it and become a man doing it. But this was bird, mere game no longer This was my soul metamorphosed here. Bonding with its beauty I became stronger, And felt my ancient self walking air. \What was it in the doctor bird or flower What was it in the evening air What was it in the sun's last gasping hour What was it so sacred there? I felt my maroon senses telling me Not the bird, but beyond lies the enemy.