What does it sound like, when the bird stops singing?
A silent looming cloud
A gentle gleaming crowd
Of watching eyes
And painful sighs
For all the sounds of forgotten times
From up above, the birds on strike
Will hold their breath and wait
Not a note from one windpipe
Will ring for us to take
To mush and meld and bend and break
We ruin all the sound
The simple chirp from a chickadee,
The sound from when I wake
We take these notes, and make our songs
All of you the same
The notes from birds
Sung for years
Copy written tears
We pay for music, that’s all around us
Babbling brooks and streams
The little things you seem to miss
When days are filled with dreams
But dream of this when sounds are gone
And all you have is noise
A silent world, with no more love
From a bluebird, jay or dove.
No comments:
Post a Comment