Evensong
A golden tincture to the sky
as to the west it goes its way,
last fleeting glance of the sun’s eye
ere night-time comes to wrest the day.
Sat tired within my garden there
high on a tree an anthems sung,
a feathered lovechild of the airr
affirming joy of life on wing.
Its song more permanent than I
though I may think to own the tree
it cares not and all change defies
for that small bird owns liberty.
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