Manu Pango
The trill under the
morning star
rings out a gusto
and vivacious song.
Oh! Sweet merle your irrepressible melody
defies all that is logic, the chill piercing morning
still only an infant, barely the time
to receive the accolades of sunrise.
Yet here lays the deepest frost
a cold front that sleeps not
driven upon a tempest,
from the ice continent
across the Southern Ocean,
does not discourage
you, your performance
bequeath daily, a spirit
of freedom, played out
to an enkindle audience.
Your act of unique tenderness,
drifts along to all that would listen,
a gift-wrapped sonata, in this,
a night shift world.
Each morning
gently you
succour nature
from her temporal
sleep, akin to the lone
Bugler at his post
your reveille to
each brand-new day.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
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