Under the Birds:

Every dawn does bathe me In such splendorous sounds, As sweet gusts carry sometimes So many to the gallery. Be the first angels to bring The dance through the wind. First were feathers to ever sing, First perch to hear in loving awe. Did the oak become so ancient just to shelter and care? Then sway in rhythm through poetic gesture On one's magical flight of fancy. As you, woods will soar, high can the spirit sail, Strong is the bond with weeping cheer, Say be the whistling willow. So very dear is bird, who do appear without effort To perform in perfect verse and endless be their song. At which now to me, this time, be sacred. When my head's twigged on my fluffy pillow, Nestled in the spirit of an Oaken Willow. /|\