How flagrant
to sit on naked, peanut brittle branch
singing
representing your kind to the world,
who forgets so easily of its gifts.
A red as bold, and beautiful
as any Cabaret,
but you are truer to its flame.
Maybe, to the blackbird,
different pew in life
something stuck
in unproductive throat
it seems,
flying rapidly
by
winging it.
Another one
of its missions it seems,
of meeting a fate everyday.
But, you
have this untimed lyric about you,
no preening
just simple being.
A never ceaseless
ballet of existence
of aspiring,
never tiring from
the same scenario.
That in learning
kindness
stimulus for the heart
assimilating
a message from it is eternally kept.
Remembering
your gentle presence
in the transition
of changing light,
as you perch
on still sleeping dark wood.
Announcing you will
be there singing the simple joy
in your being of another rebirth.
Spring and company,
the Monet's
are getting geared up.
Maybe, change
in the space inhaling
the basic need of air.
As you accentuate
the high points of the day,
of what could be
a Rip Van Winkle hour.
Getting poked in a good way
to its natural song.
And, how us humans
are tested or reinvested, everyday,
in this very sensitive area of purging kindness
into our Spring eternal lives. |
