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.
/|\
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